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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006646">the shrike to your glorious thorn</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyunsparkles/pseuds/hyunsparkles'>hyunsparkles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stray Kids (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sports, Author doesnt know how to tag, Bad Boy Hwang Hyunjin, FIFA World Cup, Football | Soccer, Implied Casual Sex, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kim Seungmin &amp; Lee Felix are Best Friends, Kim Seungmin-centric, Lee Felix (Stray Kids) is a Sweetheart, Light Angst, M/M, lots of yearning, random jyp member(s), skz 00 line is on the korean soccer national team</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:41:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>58,842</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006646</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyunsparkles/pseuds/hyunsparkles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Hyunjin kicks at the grass. “Maybe. What’s it to you?” His hair is falling into his eyes, like always, and he pushes it back again. Sweat sticks his red jersey to back, outlining his sharp shoulder blades. </p>
  <p>	Seungmin can sense a potential argument there, so instead, he changes the subject. “Are you sleeping with Jisung?”</p>
  <p>	Hyunjin chokes on air. “What?”</p>
</blockquote>Or: that one where aspiring Olympian Kim Seungmin joins the Korean soccer national team and becomes more and more involved with one of the team's best players, the mysterious Hwang Hyunjin.
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Han Jisung | Han/Hwang Hyunjin, Hwang Hyunjin/Kim Seungmin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>311</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>442</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. where it all began</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The title of this work comes from Hozier's song, "Shrike."</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Seungmin stares down at the floor. He can feel his heart beating in his chest like a quick drum, blood pounding in his ears. His teammates murmur around him. Outside the locker room, the stadium roars itself alive, the sound of thousands of soccer fans waiting for them to arrive.</p><p>	Someone brushes up against him, linking their fingers briefly with his. The hand is sweaty, and Seungmin gets a whiff of sandalwood cologne before the boy pulls away. Something in him calms.</p><p>Hyunjin presses his shoulder to Seungmin’s, then catches his hand again and squeezes it. </p><p>Seungmin blinks up at him. He studies Hyunjin’s face: unreadable. His eyes flash, so quick Seungmin almost misses it. But he recognizes that emotion, and it makes his heart skip.</p><p>“Don’t play,” he murmurs. He glances over his shoulder, to check if anyone is watching them, but everyone else seems to be preoccupied.</p><p>“I know,” Hyunjin says under his breath. His expression is steady. He releases Seungmin’s hand, his arm whispering across Seungmin’s back to pull him close. “Good luck today.” And then he disappears, likely off to find the coach and review their plays. </p><p>So Seungmin is left alone, staring at where the concrete of the locker room turns into grass and then that wide-open field, surrounded by tens of thousands of people.</p><p>“Let’s go, boys!” Coach yells then, his voice hoarse from screaming last night. They jog forward, past that thin line between concrete and grass. The moment they cross the threshold, the crowd erupts. </p><p>The field spreads out wide in front of them, the sun shining bright as a coin in the sky. Seungmin can feel the soft heat on his face, his neck. He tilts his head back a little, to look at the crowd. It goes on for ages, out both sides of his vision, surreal in its size.</p><p>He can feel eyes on his back, the heat of someone’s gaze, but he doesn’t turn around. He’s waited nineteen years for this moment. He’s poured his blood and sweat and tears into this beautiful, awful sport, and he intends to savor every moment of the coming game. He’s not getting distracted.</p><p>Though he knows, of course, that it’s a little too late for that.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>
  <em>THE PAST</em>
</p><p>Kim Seungmin starts playing soccer when he’s three years old. </p><p>	He hates it at first. His parents, well-to-do professors from the Seoul metropolitan area, recognize how influential a sport can be in turning a painfully shy child with too much nervous energy into a focused, sociable adolescent. But he’s afraid of everything: the coaches, his opponents, his teammates, the soccer ball. He has a tantrum every time they leave the house for practice. His parents later admit that they were a weekend or two away from giving up when one quiet Saturday morning, his dad puts a rerun of the 2002 World Cup, hosted by South Korea, on the TV.</p><p>	It’s from then on that Seungmin falls in love with soccer. He’s seen South Korea’s games from that year dozens of times since, and he’s still in awe with the power and grace with which Ahn Junghwan and his teammates weave between their opponents. The professional players dribble the ball with such speed that Seungmin feels it's like magic. He wants nothing more than to be like them, and he spends the whole morning watching the TV with laser-like focus, so unlike his normally constant nervous energy. </p><p>	Naturally, the tantrums stop from that day on. Seungmin begs his father at every spare moment for him to turn on professional soccer games, and whenever that request is met, the little boy watches them with the wide, wide eyes and thoughtless concentration of a child watching a magic show. He even starts to apply himself to his practices. And because it’s kind of hard to tell if a three-year-old is good at soccer, no one finds out he’s surprisingly, shockingly, somehow good at it until at least another couple years have passed. </p><p>	When he’s six, his coaches move him up an age division, so he’s competing amongst eight- and nine-year-olds. He outperforms most of his teammates for years. Soccer is magic to him; living, breathing magic, and he tries to learn that magic at every opportunity he gets. Eventually, when he’s ten and competing amongst thirteen-year-olds, his coach suggests the family send him to a proper soccer club, one that raises kids like him to be champions. </p><p>	His parents, the well-to-do Seoul academics, try their best to politely reject the proposal, but they know a lost cause when they see one. Barely two weeks after his eleventh birthday, they send him to live with his aunt and uncle in the suburbs, so he can train with nationally-ranked Miroh football club’s junior team. </p><p>	If he loved soccer before, from then on, he lives and breathes it. The years pass easily, with an endless stream of practices and more practices and games and even more practices. He doesn’t have many friends outside of soccer, because he can never hang out. His life is an endless rotation of school, practice, and sleep. He fits in homework around the edges, but halfheartedly, with the sneaking hope that he won’t need to attend college. </p><p> When he’s eighteen, he tries out for the national under-20 team and somehow, though he is far from the most talented player in the room, he makes it. </p><p> </p><p>	Seungmin’s a member of the team for a little over a year when without meaning to, he makes friends with Hwang Hyunjin, if you can call it that.</p><p>It’s a Monday, just after practice. Mingi, one of the senior members of the team, is in the midst of trying to coax Seungmin into running drills with Hwang Hyunjin after hours. </p><p>Mingi is a Golden Retriever of a boy, with boundless optimism and a smile for everyone. If anyone else had tried to convince Seungmin, they would have failed already. He doesn’t have the heart to outright turn the older boy down. </p><p>“Why should I care?” Seungmin slams his locker shut with a clang. </p><p>“Shit, man, you trying to make a point?” Mingi says, flinching at the sound. “Cap wants you to help him out. It’s better to just listen to him.” </p><p>Seungmin frowns, then looks up to meet Mingi’s eyes. “Then tell Minho that there’s no reason that our best striker would need help from the LVD.” </p><p>	“The LVD?” Mingi blinks. </p><p>	“Least Valuable Defender.” Seungmin starts untying his cleats. Their MVD, so to speak, is Na Jaemin, another puppy dog-like teammate that Seungmin can never say no to. </p><p>	Mingi frowns, turning his lip up cutely. “Stop being so mean to yourself. Look, Seungmin, between us, Cap is worried about Hyunjin. He needs to cut down on the drinking or he’ll be kicked off the team. If you run drills with him, maybe you can talk to him? Tell him to stop?” Cap was the team captain, a twenty-year-old midfielder and oldest team member named Lee Minho. He was notoriously difficult to work with, cynical with very high - almost too high - expectations of them.</p><p>	Seungmin sighs. “Cap thinks I can make him stop? Why?”</p><p>	Mingi glances around for a few seconds, like he’s looking for someone, then says, “Oh, well, you’re the only one he’ll talk to.”</p><p>	“He talks to Jisung,” Seungmin argues. He throws his cleats in his bag, then slips on his street shoes. </p><p>	“Screaming matches don’t count, and you know it.” Mingi claps Seungmin on the shoulder, then salutes him with that puppy-dog smile. “We’re counting on you, bro.”</p><p>	“But-” Seungmin starts, but Mingi has already disappeared, likely to start packing up. He checks his watch with a sigh: 7:49 PM. He might as well just bite the bullet and do what Cap wants. He may not like their captain, but Minho clearly knows what he’s doing; they had yet to lose a match this season. </p><p>	Seungmin starts pulling his cleats back on. “Hey, uh, Hyunjin,” he calls. “Can I talk to you for a second?”</p><p>From across the locker room, he sees a dark head lift up in surprise. The chattering of his teammates immediately quiets. </p><p>	Hyunjin turns around and gives him a grimace of a smile, then weaves around the mess of teammates to reach him. “So you heard from Coach,” he says flatly. “That I’m getting kicked off the team unless I shape up.”</p><p>	Seungmin's going to talk to Mingi later about twisting people’s words, because that is <em>not</em> what the older boy said was happening. Seungmin tries to not let his surprise show on his face. “Then you’re ready?”</p><p>	Hyunjin shrugs, raking back his silky black hair with one hand. “I mean, sure, whatever.” Seungmin has always wondered how Hyunjin keeps it looking that soft, even after hours of sweating through practice. His own hair always ends up looking like he’s walked through a greasy rainshower.</p><p>	Someone shoulder checks Seungmin hard, and he turns around with a frown that quickly melts into a friendly smile. “Dude, that hurt!”</p><p>	“Oops,” Felix says sincerely. “I’m heading out, I’ll see you guys later.” </p><p>	Seungmin waves. Felix, an Australian-Korean that belongs to an Aussie professional football club outside of his activities with the Korean national team, is the closest he has to a friend. Felix is the only other defender Seungmin’s age, and they do a lot of activities together as a result. 	</p><p>	“Let’s go,” Hyunjin says. “We don’t have all night.” He brushes past Seungmin, but with no force. </p><p>	Seungmin throws a look over his shoulder at his other teammates without thinking. He makes eye contact with Jaemin, who laughs audibly at his expression, and then Jisung, right next to Jaemin, who gives him a strange look. </p><p><em>Coach,</em> Seungmin mouths simply. Jisung makes a sound of comprehension, then rolls his eyes. His eyes follow Hyunjin’s figure as the taller boy disappears down the hall, in a way that almost makes Seungmin blush. He does this sometimes, and so does Hyunjin; they look each other in a way that makes Seungmin wonder, even though they’re supposedly enemies.</p><p><em>Hmm.</em> Seungmin isn’t a snitch, so he doesn’t ask just then. He just follows Hyunjin out. </p><p> </p><p>	“Uh, were you drunk at practice on Monday?” Seungmin asks Hyunjin hesitantly almost an hour later, when they’ve exhausted themselves running drills. The sun has sunk decidedly below the horizon, rendering the normally mundane pitch potentially treacherous in the darkness. They sit on the cold metal bleachers a few feet apart. Seungmin can feel the chill of the evening sinking in through his bones, up from the grass and through the seats. </p><p>	Hyunjin kicks at the grass. “Maybe. What’s it to you?” His hair is falling into his eyes, like always, and he pushes it back again. Sweat sticks his red jersey to back, outlining his sharp shoulder blades. </p><p>	Seungmin can see a potential argument there, so instead, he changes the subject. “Are you sleeping with Jisung?”</p><p>	Hyunjin chokes on air. “What?” He says, staring back at Seungmin with his eyes wide. “Why would you think that?” His jeg jitters on the ground, like he’s a rocket about to take off.</p><p>	Seungmin raises his eyebrows. He drums his hands on his knees, straightening his legs and stretching out his hamstrings with a wince before he replies. “Well, are you?” He asks.</p><p>	Hyunjin’s eyes dart away, and Seungmin watches, amused, as a blush slowly covers his cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He’s not a good liar; Seungmin can hear the tremor of a falsehood in his voice.</p><p>	Seungmin shrugs, trying to hide a smile. <em>I love being right.</em> “Whatever. It’s not like I care. But if you are, tell Jisung to stop being so obvious, looking at you like that.”</p><p>	“Like what?” Hyunjin’s voice buzzes in his throat, and Seungmin can hear the thinly veiled curiosity. He looks at Seungmin sideways, like he’s trying not to. He brushes his hair back with one hand. </p><p>	“Like he wants you.” <em>Like he’s hungry,</em> Seungmin adds in his brain. <em>Like he’s dying of thirst and you’re water, like he’s starving and you’re food. And you look at him like that, too.</em> For some reason, the thought makes something in him ache. </p><p>	Hyunjin doesn’t seem to know what to say. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He’s smiling faintly, like he’s pleased. “That’s… interesting,” he says finally. “Do you think anyone else has noticed? Not that it’s true,” He adds in a rush. “Because it’s not.”</p><p>	Seungmin thinks about it for a moment, staring out at the dark, dark pitch and the blinking stars in the distance. “Maybe Felix, but he’s too nice to say anything. No one else.”</p><p>	“And you’re not?” Hyunjin says carefully. He pulls at his shirt, separating it from his back. “Nice?”</p><p>	“I’m not nice like <em>that.”</em> And it’s the truth. It’s more truth than he meant to share with someone like Hyunjin, someone he barely knows. In the back of his brain, Seungmin thinks of the empty apartment that's waiting for him at home, about the parents he barely talks to, about the aunt and uncle he barely knows despite living with them for his the majority of his formative years. Seungmin is nice, yes, but the kind of nice that seems to draw people away, rather than bring them close.</p><p>	To Seungmin's surprise, the other boy breaks into a broad smile. He has perfect teeth, white and straight like an actor. He messes with his hair again with one hand as he says, “Then we’re going to get along just fine.”</p><p>	And they do, somehow, and as a result, Hyunjin isn't kicked off the team. The after-hours drills continue for months, even though Hyunjin never comes to practice drunk again, even though Seungmin stops being able to smell alcohol on him barely a week after they start. They’re not friends, though, at least not in the way Seungmin and Felix are friends. Something in their relationship is unsteady in the way most friendships aren’t, like a poorly balanced object about to fall off a table. </p><p>They don’t talk about Jisung again, but Hyunjin starts to catch Seungmin intercepting their moony glances with an expression Seungmin can only describe as knowing. It goes on for months, and every time it happens, something in Seungmin’s gut unravels a little farther, an ache that whispers in his stomach whenever Hyunjin looks at Jisung like a man starving. </p><p>Seungmin wonders, sometimes, how they manage to keep it a secret. He wonders about Hyunjin, too, in ways that he’s too embarrassed to voice out loud.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. like oil on water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Seungmin catches his team's resident couple arguing in a hotel pool. He can't stop watching Hyunjin, who swims as elegantly as he dribbles the ball.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A few months later, Seungmin walks in on Hyunjin and Jisung breaking up.</p><p> The team is in England, for the FIFA U-20 World Cup. Early that day, they lost a match against Japan in the second round of the knockout phase, putting them in eighth place. It’s almost tantalizingly close to victory in a match of over 30 countries, yet at the same time far back enough that for a country as usually successful as Korea, there’s no reason to celebrate. To make matters worse, Seungmin develops a pounding migraine by halftime and spends the rest of the game icing his eye, effectively preventing him from any chance of being subbed in later in the game. It’s the worst kind of bench warming, and as a serial bench warmer, Seungmin would know. </p><p>By the time evening rolls around, they make it back to the hotel, still decked out in their jerseys. After they get their room keys, they loiter around the hotel’s foyer for a while, several team members scrolling through the local Yelp feed in search of a decent restaurant. Donghyuk and Renjun, the team’s Tom and Jerry, start a questionably good-natured argument about food preferences. The two coaches camp out early on in the argument on adjacent leather chairs, muttering to each other with serious faces. </p><p>Seungmin and Felix are standing a little apart from the rest, talking amongst themselves, when Seungmin sees a familiar tall, dark figure slip away from the group. A few seconds later, Jisung follows, looking around surreptitiously. </p><p>Seungmin bites his lip. Head Coach Lim, the oblivious, middle-aged straight man he is, made Jisung and Hyunjin roommates, so it doesn’t take a genius to figure out where they’re going. </p><p>Seungmin elbows Felix as he watches them go. </p><p>The shorter boy widens his eyes, catching them just as Jisung disappears around the corner, towards the elevator. “They need to be more subtle,” he says, his voice low. </p><p> “You’re telling me.” Something twists in Seungmin’s gut, and he looks away quickly. </p><p>Seungmin hears Felix’s stomach growl loudly, and the boy laughs self-consciously. “Dude, they need to just pick a place already. Nobody cares if it’s Japanese or Thai.”</p><p>Seungmin glances over at the cluster of teammates centered around the arguing midfielders. It looks like Donghyuk’s in the middle of proclaiming the health benefits of raw salmon to a crowd of snickering teammates. Renjun looks on, scowling. </p><p>Just then, Seungmin’s eye begins to twitch as red-hot pain races from his eye to his brain.  He grimaces again, his head buzzing with a shock of dizziness. </p><p>Felix catches his expression, and his eyes widen with concern. “You good?”</p><p>Seungmin shakes his head. “Honestly, my migraine is fucking killing me. I might just go up to my room and take a nap or something.”</p><p>“That’s probably a good idea. I’ll see you later, dude.” </p><p>Seungmin briefly tells Coach Lim where he’s going, then makes his way to his room, leaning heavily on the elevator railing.  He collapses into bed without even getting under the duvet and sleeps, as they say, like a rock.</p><p> </p><p>Seungmin wakes up to find the sharp, stabbing sensation above his eye only slightly subsided. The light filtering in from the hotel window is muted and dark with late evening.</p><p>Seungmin sighs, rolling out of bed in a swift motion. He rubs his eyes tiredly, then crosses the room and scrabbles around his bag to find his pain medication. He swallows the pill dry. </p><p>His phone dings. He reaches over to grab it. There’s a text from Felix, dated fifteen minutes prior: <em>some of the guys want to check out the pool once we get back. wanna meet us there? </em></p><p>Seungmin sends him a quick agreement, then shuts off his phone and rummages around in his suitcase for his bathing suit. </p><p>His older sister’s sport of choice was swim team, so Seungmin spent more than a few Saturdays in the tepid humidity of the local recreational center, watching twenty or so teenage girls race through the water. Even though his obsession with soccer means he never truly learned to swim, the water always seems to calm him regardless. It reminds him of his sister, of the slow murmur of his parents voices and the acid taste of cheap concession stand candy. </p><p>Once he’s gotten dressed, Seungmin slips his sockless feet into his street shoes, pockets his room key, and pads out of the hotel room. </p><p>Further down the hallway, he can hear a man yelling at someone in English; a child’s voice chimes in, disgruntled. A middle-aged woman in a brightly-colored sari is chattering by the elevator into her phone in a language Seungmin doesn’t recognize. There are at least three or four others waiting for the elevator; some of them are wearing the jerseys of their favorite soccer players. Seungmin sees a deep blue Mbappe jersey, and a sky blue and white number that can only be Messi. </p><p>None of the soccer fans give him a second glance. Seungmin’s not surprised; he’s a nobody from the Korean U-20 team, not old or good enough to make the official national squad, a benchwarmer, practically still a child at barely nineteen. Part of him wishes he’d worn his black practice jacket, the one with KOREA emblazoned on the back in big letters. To be fair, it’s not like he joined the under-20 team expecting or even wanting fame. He’s a soccer player because he loves the game, because the magic of 2002 Ahn Junghwan has yet to dissolve in his memory. But, just once, he’d like to know what it’s like to feel those wide, wide eyes on him.</p><p>He shifts his weight, listening to the lilting tone of the middle-aged woman’s voice as she cheerfully speaks into her phone, and looks down at his plain white t-shirt with a suppressed sigh. </p><p>The elevator dings, the steel doors opening to reveal a small family. A boy about eight stands in the center, wearing a white and blue jersey. He’s speaking to a woman that must be his mother: “-and then we can go to the restaurant, right?”</p><p>Seungmin realizes with a shock that first, he can understand the boy, and second, the name on the back of the jersey looks a lot like “Son,” as in Song Heungmin. </p><p>The Korean family brushes past him without a second thought. Slowly, the small crowd begins to load onto the elevator.</p><p><em>One day, </em>Seungmin can’t help but think. <em>One day.</em></p><p> </p><p>Seungmin expects the pool to be packed with families with older kids. It may be almost 8:45 at night, but given the number of people he ran into on his way down, he expects at least a few stragglers. He’s shocked when he looks through the grainy, translucent glass and sees only two figures, one standing on the pool deck, the other floating somewhere in the deep end. It’s hard to make out details, but they look male. He scans his key card in a quick motion, then swings open the door to the pool deck. </p><p>Almost immediately, he’s hit with the overwhelming humidity. The air hangs thick with water, flooding past the threshold of the door and clinging to Seungmin’s skin. He feels himself relax, his tight shoulders releasing.</p><p>A millisecond later, he hears the raised voices.</p><p>“-five years old or something.” Hyunjin’s low baritone floats up from the deep end of the pool. He’s treading water slowly, his back to Seungmin as he stares up at the other speaker.</p><p>Seungmin swallows. Hyunjin’s back is a study in anatomy, firm musculature rippling with every elongated movement. His shoulder blades are like blunted knives. Water drips steadily down his neck, trickling down in rivulets. </p><p> Jisung stands facing him, dripping water all over the pool deck, his face contorted into a scowl. He’s holding a towel in one hand, his arms crossed tightly. “Well, fuck you, then.” </p><p><em>Whoa. </em> Seungmin steps inside the pool deck immediately, letting the door close softly. They don’t seem to hear him; nobody gives him a second glance. Or even a first glance.</p><p>“Look, how about you get over yourself. I’m allowed to have fucking friends.” Hyunjin’s voice is acid, angry and scornful enough that Seungmin wonders how Jisung is still standing. He’s never heard Hyunjin speak like that, and it makes him almost uneasy. </p><p>Seungmin takes a few steps forward, so he’s standing well outside of the reach of the door. His conscience wars with itself; he knows it’s wrong to listen in on private conversations, but he doesn’t feel so bad, considering the beeping of the key card didn’t clue them in. And he’s curious.</p><p>Jisung, meanwhile, scoffs. He moves his hand, and the towel moves with it, revealing tanned washboard abs. Seungmin does a double take. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Friends. You don’t text friends that shit.” </p><p>Hyunjin’s back visibly tenses. A tendon rises in his neck. “Oh, really?” He replies scathingly. “Well, last time I checked, you and Changbin were just friends, but that didn’t stop you from sexting him last weekend, did it?”</p><p>Oh, <em>shit.</em> Jisung's been cheating on Hyunjin? Seungmin's astounded. In the year he’s been friends with Jisung, the shorter boy has never seemed the type. And the way they look at each other… Well.</p><p>When Jisung finally speaks, he sounds like he’s burning. His voice is quiet. “You went through my phone?” He’s a coral snake, a brightly colored reptile warning danger.</p><p>Hyunjin seems to realize this, because his reply is placating, even if his tone is still borderline rude. “No, you just left your notifications on, fucking calm down.” </p><p>Clearly, he can’t go on listening to this. For a long moment, Seungmin considers just turning around and going back to his room. But he still wants to swim, so he settles for loudly clearing his throat.</p><p>Hyunjin spins around with enough speed that his wet hair whips into his face. “Oh, fuck.” His eyes widen for a half-second, wide with an emotion Seungmin can’t place.</p><p>“Min?” Jisung says incredulously, his gaze flickering, quick as lightning, to Seungmin’s face. “Why are <em>you</em> here?”</p><p>Seungmin can feel his face growing warm, heat traveling up his neck and across his cheeks. He shifts his weight, hearing the wet tiles squeak under his Nikes as he stares awkwardly back at his wide-eyed teammates. </p><p>“Uh, I’m here to swim? I didn’t realize you guys were, uh, busy.”</p><p>“We’re not,” Hyunjin says shortly. “We’re done.” He swims over to the side of the pool, then pulls himself out in one swift, elegant motion. He’s wearing expensive-looking swim trunks, all navy blue and covered in a repeating nautical motif. He doesn’t have the washboard abs that Jisung does, or even abs, really, but his stomach is flat. Seungmin watches as water rolls down his back, his abdomen. He can’t breathe. </p><p>Jisung catches Seungmin’s gaze, and something shutters behind his eyes. Then he seems to register Hyunjin’s words, suddenly blinking rapidly. “What?” </p><p>Seungmin wants to hide. He takes a few steps forward and deposits his stuff on the nearest chair. He stands next to it awkwardly, debating whether or not he should go into the pool.</p><p>Hyunjin tosses his head, water splattering everywhere. He pushes back his wet hair. He’s always touching his hair, arranging it out of his face. It’s long and dark, long enough that such an attempt is fruitless. When he speaks, he doesn’t look up from the shimmering surface of the pool. “You heard me. Us- we’re done.” He takes a breath. “Over.”</p><p>“What?” This time Jisung is whispering. </p><p>Seungmin coughs, afraid they’ve forgotten he’s there. Jisung stares at Hyunjin, his eyes glass, for an endless moment, like he’s expecting the taller boy to say something.  </p><p>Hyunjin doesn’t give any further indication that he’s listening. He kicks his legs under the water in slow strokes, still staring down at the glimmering surface.</p><p>“Fuck you,” Jisung snarls. Then he storms out. </p><p>Seungmin doesn’t let his gaze follow his friend, but he hears the beeping sound of someone opening and closing the door to the pool deck a few seconds later. </p><p>Seungmin sighs audibly, feeling himself relax, then cringes. Before he can second-guess himself, he strips off his shirt and crosses the deck, sliding into the pool. The water is cold, almost too cold to swim in, but it steadies his heart.</p><p> </p><p>He can only imagine what Hyunjin might be feeling, so he doesn’t try to make conversation. Seungmin’s never been in a relationship before; he was always too busy training. Seeing Hyunjin and Jisung’s relationship crash and burn only reinforces his belief that they really don’t have time for them.</p><p>Seungmin breathes evenly, feeling his toes touch the bottom. The water laps against his collarbone. All Seungmin can hear is the faint buzzing of the lights and the smacking of the waves produced by his movement. If he closed his eyes, the memories from his childhood would rise up unbidden, like driftwood after a storm. He feels bone-tired, like all of his activity this afternoon is finally catching up with him.</p><p>Hyunjin looks up at him. His eyes glimmer and his bottom lip is red, like he’s been biting it. “How long were you standing there?” </p><p>“Oh. Uh. Long enough?” </p><p>“You know you can’t tell anyone. About Jisung and me.” Hyunjin’s eyes are deep and dark, like black pools. </p><p>“I know,” Seungmin says, almost taken aback. “I wouldn’t… It’s none of my business.” </p><p>Hyunjin looks away. There’s a pause. Then, “Where did the guys end up going? For dinner, I mean.”</p><p>Seungmin shrugs. “I have no idea. Were you...” He pauses, restarts. “Did you guys have dinner here?” What he wants to say is, <em>were you too busy making out? </em></p><p>Hyunjin shakes his head. “Not yet.” He tilts his head, a smile suddenly teasing at the edges of his lips. He looks at Seungmin once, his gaze lingering on his abdomen, then does a double take. “Damn, you’ve been working out?”</p><p>Seungmin looks away, feeling himself blush self-consciously. “Yeah.” <em>Get yourself under control, Min. </em></p><p>"Well, it shows.” Hyunjin’s eyes flash. He leans back on his hands. “Oh, hey, I wanted to ask you something.”</p><p>“What’s up?”</p><p>“Did Jaemin ever talk to you?”</p><p>Seungmin frowns. “You mean, like, ever?”</p><p>Hyunjin rolls his eyes. “No, about…” He stops, examines Seungmin’s expression for a long moment, then raises his eyebrows. “I guess not. Never mind.”</p><p> Seungmin walks closer to him, so they’re only a few feet apart and he doesn’t feel so awkward about having a conversation. “About what?” </p><p>Hyunjin shakes his head again. “I said never mind.”</p><p>“Seriously, about what?” Seungmin presses. </p><p>Hyunjin slides into the water. “Hey, come here,” he says suddenly. His eyes glint.</p><p>“Why?” Seungmin’s almost shocked to see that expression on Hyunjin: almost mischievous. He’s used to the solemn, quiet boy Hyunjin is at practice. He also knows he’s being diverted.</p><p>“Just trust me,” Hyunjin says, a smile flickering at his lips.</p><p>“No way,” Seungmin says, taking a step back. He puts his hands up in front of him, like he’s defending himself. “I know what you’re going to do.”</p><p>“Do you?” The taller boy prompts. He’s smiling widely now. Something whispers in Seungmin’s chest. </p><p>“Yeah?” Seungmin says warily. </p><p>Hyunjin pounces before he can react. Seungmin feels hands snaking around his shoulders, under his knees. He tries to struggle, mindful of the sensation of slick muscle against his skin, but Hyunjin just drops him. He hits the water hard, and he feels the impact on his back for a few seconds longer than is comfortable.</p><p>“Dude,” Seungmin says, gasping for air once he’s resurfaced. “What the fuck.” He tries to sound angry, but it’s more half-heartedly amused than anything else. His body is warm where Hyunjin’s touched him.</p><p>“Now you’re all wet, too,” Hyunjin says smugly. He blinks, then grimaces. “Fuck. Forget I said that.” </p><p>Seungmin laughs. He can feel a blush crawling its way across his cheeks. </p><p>Hyunjin doesn’t laugh. There’s a long, heavy moment. He’s looking at Seungmin with a strange expression, like he’s about to say something but keeps suppressing the urge. </p><p>Suddenly, a phone begins to ring, blaring an American rap song. Hyunjin’s expression drops, and he steps back. He looks over his shoulder, where the phone lies on a pile of clothing, and his expression grows complicated. “That, uh…” He pauses. “That’s my mom.”</p><p>Seungmin doesn't know anything about Hyunjin's relationship with his parents, but judging by the look on his face, it isn't good. He's one of the few boys whose parents have never come to a single game, or sent him flowers, or anything. Even Seungmin's parents, who know nothing about their son and even less about sports, came to at least a few games.</p><p>“Oh,” Seungmin says, because he can't figure out what else to say. </p><p>Seungmin watches as Hyunjin leaves the pool, checks his phone and apparently calls his mother back. “Yes?” He says, his voice hard. “What do you want?” </p><p>He listens for a minute, then another minute, his frown gradually freezing into something uncomfortably neutral. He hangs up and calls someone else, but still doesn’t say anything, still expressionless. Eventually, after a few minutes, he leaves while still on the phone, giving Seungmin an apologetic grimace and a small wave. </p><p>Seungmin doesn’t stay in the water much longer after that. He feels too much like he’s just caught a fish, only to have it slip like water through his fingers. He only has to wait another five or so minutes before Felix and the boys arrive, but it feels like hours. </p><p>That night, it takes him forever to fall asleep. The feeling of Hyunjin’s ropy, muscular arms, the brief feeling of being pressed to the boy’s chest for a half-second, a millisecond, burns itself into his memory.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. frostbitten</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Seungmin's at a restaurant with Jaemin when the latter receives a surprise call from a teammate neither of them have seen in a while.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm sorry this took so long to post :( exams are hitting me like a truck, but updates should be much more frequent once they're over on may 21st!</p><p>tw: mentioned death of a character's extended relative</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Once the team steps off the plane from England and onto Korean soil, Seungmin doesn’t see Hyunjin for another six months. With the FIFA U-20 World Cup over, there’s no need for the national team to practice until the season starts up. Everyone goes back to their home clubs, to train and to rest and to compete against other national clubs. </p><p>Seungmin stays in touch with a few of them. He follows a lot of his teammates on Instagram. On Jisung’s page, he’s treated to artsy photos of bugs and plants as well as sly, uncaptioned photos of a headless man with a penchant for black jeans and expensive-looking sneakers. Once, Jisung tags Hyunjin in a snapshot of a restaurant table and a shared pasta dish, but takes down the photo within a matter of minutes. Seungmin can only think of one reason he might do that.</p><p> It’s not like he cares, though. Obviously. Jisung must have something over Hyunjin, because why else would Hyunjin go back to a cheater? </p><p>Seungmin doesn’t talk to Hyunjin because he doesn’t have Hyunjin’s number. </p><p>Sometimes, Seungmin sees the enigmatic boy in his dreams, Dream-Hyunjin always smug and disdainful at Seungmin’s attempts to communicate. Sometimes, Seungmin dreams of a dark, shadowy monster, chasing him through the streets. When he turns around, to face the monster head-on, it’s a man with his face, it’s him, Seungmin, wearing a knowing smirk, saying, I know who you are. Sometimes, he dreams of a bed, and a boy without a face, the sound of birds and the bright smile of morning. Each time, he wakes up with an overwhelming sense of peace, enough to bring him to aching, confused tears. </p><p>While Seungmin tries to keep up a rapport with Felix, his best friend during the season, the boy goes back to his Australian football club less than a week after the world cup ends. The thousands of miles between them make their texts less and less frequent as the months wear on.</p><p>All of which is to say, Seungmin is surprised when it turns out that the best off-season correspondent is Jaemin, the bubbly, gangly defender with feet almost as quick as Hyunjin’s. By a stroke of luck, it turns out Jaemin’s home club is Neo Culture Football Club, less than 20 miles south of Miroh’s home field. And by way of Jaemin’s deeply amiable personality and almost puzzling persistence, they keep steadily in touch, to the point of meeting up almost once a week. They meet with Mingi and Minho a few times, but usually, it’s just the two of them, laughing over cheap ramen and beer, catching up over the events of the last week. </p><p>It makes Seungmin’s heart flutter confusedly. He doesn’t understand why Jaemin tries so hard to maintain their friendship, but the attempt touches some deep, shadowed part of his heart that he didn’t know existed. He thinks of his long, practice-laden high school years, and for the first time in his life, he wonders if he made a mistake in choosing soccer over… this. </p><p> </p><p>Seungmin checks his phone impatiently, the light roar of the restaurant washing over him. A woman laughs behind him, high and loud, buzzing through his eardrums. The fluorescent light above him flickers. The wooden bench digs into Seungmin’s skin. </p><p>
  <em>Jaemin: i swear i’ll be there in 5<br/>
Jaemin: traffic is just Like That rn<br/>
Seungmin: :(<br/>
Jaemin: haha nooo </em>
</p><p>	Jaemin texts like he speaks; that is, dramatically. According to him, if soccer hadn’t worked out, he planned to go into theatre, or write plays, or do something along those lines. He has a booming voice that doesn’t quite match up with his long, lanky body, and he never fails to make Seungmin laugh. </p><p>A few minutes later, Jaemin slides into the seat across from him. He’s wearing a military jacket and a bucket hat, and his smile glows through the low lighting.  “Hey, dude! I haven’t seen you in forever!” </p><p>“I know,” Seungmin replies. (It’s been two weeks. Like he said: dramatic.) “How’s Mina?” </p><p>Jaemin shrugs, but Seungmin doesn’t miss the bright look in his eye when he says her name. “I mean, as good as she can be, with the tournament like three days away. I’ve been sleeping on the couch because she’s annoyed at fucking everything I do.”</p><p>Mina was Jaemin’s long-time girlfriend, a tennis player for the national team with a short black bob, perpetually smug smile, and careful, staccato way of speech. For a long time, Seungmin couldn’t figure out why someone as chill as Jaemin would date a girl that was so fucking uptight. But then he met her by chance at the afterparty following one of Neo Culture Club’s games, and it all made sense. Jaemin may not look it, but he had an absolutely zero-bullshit policy in his relationships, hence why he was hanging out with Seungmin, not some of the other guys on the team. And Mina was the same. They were two sides of the same coin.</p><p>Seungmin loves his friend, but talking about Jaemin’s clear domestic happiness makes his heart hurt a little. He changes the subject. “How was your game?”</p><p>Jaemin purses his lips. “Dude, we bombed it. We’re done for the season.” He gives Seungmin a grimace of a smile, as if to say, so be it. “But all the better for Miroh, I guess.”</p><p>“Who was it against?”</p><p>“One Us Club from Busan. They’re all… fine, I guess, but their striker fucking murdered us. Hwanwoong, maybe?” As a “fine” soccer player, Seungmin feels this sentence in his soul. Jaemin, who plays on the level of Minho and Hyunjin, men undoubtedly destined for the Olympics and official world team, doesn’t seem to notice. </p><p>“We should be playing them next,” Seungmin says after thinking for a moment. He taps his fingers on the table. “We’ll try to beat them for you.” </p><p>“You better.” Jaemin looks serious for a half-second, then his gaze brightens. “Hey, you want to see a cool-ass video?”</p><p>Seungmin sighs, a smile slipping across his face. “Is it a video of a puppy?”</p><p>“You bet your ass it's a video of a puppy… Wait, let me find it.” Jaemin scrolls through his phone, his eyes unfocused. His long, tanned fingers swipe across his screen for a few moments. Seungmin notices that he’s wearing a new ring, the thick metal band encircling his pointer finger. There are words engraved across the rough-edged surface, but Seungmin can’t make them out.</p><p>“Aha!” Jaemin lightheartedly shoves his phone in Seungmin’s face.</p><p>Seungmin blinks. “Dude, night mode?”</p><p>“Yeah, so?”</p><p>“You’re so edgy,” Seungmin says ironically, staring down at the screen. It’s on Jaemin’s Twitter feed- one of those inspirational pet videos that everyone retweets. Seungmin watches it for a few minutes, feeling Jaemin watching him expectantly. </p><p>Jaemin’s phone dings, and the video pauses right as the dog learns to walk with its new wheelchair. The text pops up above the video:</p><p>
  <em>Mina &lt;3: text me before you leave? The roads are supposed to get icy later </em>
</p><p>Seungmin blushes. “Uh, Mina texted you?”</p><p>“Dude, finish the video.”</p><p>Barely thirty seconds later, Jaemin’s phone dings again, but this time, it’s not from Mina.</p><p>
  <em>Hwang Hyunjin: call me.</em>
</p><p>Seungmin does a double take. He hasn’t seen Hyunjin’s name in months. He didn’t even know they were friends, and- </p><p>“What? What does she say?” Jaemin asks immediately, likely recognizing Seungmin’s naked surprise. He’s leaning back in the booth, the bucket hat pulled a little over his eyes. There’s a little, secret smile blooming across his face, and Seungmin is struck by Jaemin’s handsomeness all at once. If he wasn’t dating Mina… maybe. </p><p>Seungmin frowns. “No, it’s… uh… Hyunjin?” The video ends, and he reaches out to return the phone.</p><p>Jaemin rolls his eyes. “Ugh, fucking great.” He takes his phone from Seungmin’s outstretched hand just as his phone dings again with the arrival of another text. His eyes blink once, twice, three times. His eyes are wide. All the energy seems to leave him at once, like air leaving a balloon.</p><p>“I didn’t know you were friends with Hyunjin,” Seungmin says. In the back of his brain, he wonders why earnest, bubbly Jaemin never mentioned him. As far as Seungmin knew, they were work acquaintances, friendly teammates that aren’t quite friends. </p><p>“We grew up together,” Jaemin says after a moment. His voice is faraway.</p><p>“That’s cool.” Seungmin tries to hide the surprise in his voice. </p><p>Jaemin shrugs. “Not really.” He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. It doesn’t escape Seungmin that he’s still holding his phone, the blue glow reflecting onto his arm in the low lighting of the restaurant. He checks his phone again, that same strange expression slipping through his amiable smile. </p><p>Seungmin’s instincts war for a long moment - <em>should I give him space? should I ask what’s going on? something’s obviously upset him </em>- before he gives in. “Jaemin, did something happen?”</p><p>His normally cheery friend drops the pretend smile immediately. His eyes are heavy, but he races through his words. “Yeah, uh, something kinda came up. I might need to- maybe- someone’s passed away.”</p><p>Seungmin waits for a beat, so shocked he thinks he might have heard wrong. But when the words register, he feels his heart sink. <em>Oh no, Jaemin. </em> “Do you need to leave?”</p><p>Jaemin takes a breath. “I’m not sure. I do need to call someone, though, so if you don’t mind…”</p><p>Seungmin quickly waves him on. </p><p>Jaemin rockets out of the booth, weaving through other patrons and haggard-looking waiters to the edge of the restaurant. He disappears out the door.</p><p> </p><p>When Jaemin comes back nearly fifteen minutes later, he looks like he’s aged several years. With a shaky breath, he slowly explains the situation: someone he knows has died, and he needs to keep someone company so he might actually have to go and he hopes that’s fine, we should get a raincheck? He stands there under the low lighting, one hand hovering over the table, an apologetic grimace drawn across his face. They make eye contact for a long second, and Jaemin’s eyes are dark, dark. </p><p>Seungmin wants to give him space, but he also wants to give him a hug, and he’s not sure what to do. “Can I ask who died?” He asks carefully.</p><p>“My neighbor.” Jaemin studies his face for a bit, then asks, “Does Hyunjin trust you?” </p><p>Seungmin blinks. “Uh…”</p><p>“I need to go see him.”</p><p>Seungmin’s eyes widen. “Oh. I dunno.” </p><p>Jaemin takes a long breath. “Um, I have to go meet him and I don’t really… I don’t wanna do it alone. Do you want to come with?”</p><p>“Of course I’ll come with you,” Seungmin breathes. “Of course.”</p><p> </p><p>They drive for what must be close to fifteen minutes, the rapidly greyish suburban skyline patterned out on both sides. Jaemin has Seungmin text Hyunjin for him, to check that it’s okay for Seungmin to come. They get a monosyllable, a nonanswer that says more about Hyunjin’s state of mind than his actual feelings on the matter. Then, slowly, carefully, Jaemin explains that Hyunjin’s grandmother has died, that Jaemin and Hyunjin lived next to each other for almost ten years, that she was much more of a mother than Hyunjin’s actual mother ever was. That he knows enough of Hyunjin not to leave him alone tonight. In case he drinks.</p><p>That, Seungmin recognizes from the uncharacteristically short tone in Jaemin’s normally friendly voice, is somehow off-limits, a subject not meant to be broached. Whatever Hyunjin and alcohol means to Jaemin, it’s not meant for Seungmin’s ears. </p><p>For much of the rest of the car ride, they’re silent.</p><p>The trees curve over them, leaves shaking in the sharp winter wind so violently that the movements can be seen in the darkening light of the evening. Jaemin’s car, a dirt-old Honda Civic he lovingly calls the Rust Bucket, lacks consistent internal heating. It puffs out occasional, rickety bursts of lukewarm air, but otherwise, the boys are left to shiver in their puffy coats. Seungmin spends most of the car ride watching frost crawl slowly across the edges of the windshield, his teeth chattering.</p><p>They finally arrive at a convenience store parking lot one or two towns over. The local stadium looms close by, the interlocking metal bars glinting under the dim glow offered by adjacent street lights. There’s only one other car in the parking lot, a well-cared for black Mitsubishi two or three parking spots over in the opposite lane. A man leans against the side of the car, his hands shoved in his pockets, hair buried under the hood of his coat. The headlights light him up from behind. When Jaemin turns off the gas, the man looks up and somehow makes eye contact with Seungmin, revealing his face.</p><p>Seungmin would recognize those high cheekbones, those full lips, that effortless cascade of sleek hair anywhere. Apparently he hasn’t cut his hair since Seungmin last saw him, and he can’t help but feel something shiver in his chest. His mouth is dry.</p><p> Hyunjin’s breath is a white fog in front of him. He doesn’t move. </p><p>Jaemin gets out of the car and goes to the back. A few seconds later, Seungmin hears the clicking sound of the trunk opening. </p><p>Hyunjin asks Jaemin something, his voice blurred and hidden by the car walls just enough that Seungmin misses every other word or so. “Why…bring...?” He can guess the gist of it: “Why did you bring him?” He doesn’t catch Jaemin’s murmured reply, called out as he reappears in front of the car. He’s holding a folded quilt between his arms.</p><p> Seungmin follows him, letting the door close slowly behind him, feeling the sharp gust of wintry wind burn his cheeks. His head is whirling.. </p><p>Seungmin watches as Jaemin hands Hyunjin the blanket. </p><p>“You’re not mad I brought him, right?” Jaemin asks hesitantly.</p><p>There’s a pause. Seungmin can feel his heart beating like a drum in his chest.</p><p>“No,” Hyunjin says finally. There’s little emotion to it, and he doesn’t look at Seungmin. Something flickers across his face, as quick as lightning. His lips are red, like he’s been biting them, his cheeks bright pink with the cold. “This is… from her?”<br/>
“She gave it to me in sixth grade,” Jaemin says quietly. “When she saw me on the porch that day, you know, after I sprained my ankle. I think… you should probably have it.”</p><p>Hyunjin’s eyes are glassy. “Thank you,” he says. He takes it gingerly, like it’s a bomb, and he cradles it in his arms like it’s a beating heart, something breakable and precious. “The funeral’s next Saturday. I’ll send you the details.”</p><p>There’s another pause. It’s not quite awkward; more uncomfortable than anything else, like Jaemin can’t quite figure out what to say. Seungmin certainly couldn’t; something about Hyunjin’s expression, the careful, closed-off nature of it, makes him feel like he’s intruding. The fact that this is the first time Seungmin’s seen him in months doesn’t help. Hyunjin’s hair falls into his eyes, illuminated faintly by the refracting headlights. He looks somehow different.</p><p>“I’ll text my mom later, maybe she can bring some food over,” Jaemin says quietly, when the silence has undoubtedly grown too much for him. “Make it easier for everyone.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Hey, dude-” Jaemin says quickly. “Just- you want to get some food?”</p><p>Hyunjin shrugs. “Whatever. Sure.” He walks on ahead of them, towards the convenience store, his shoulders up high, something about him tense and caged. </p><p>Jaemin makes eye contact with Seungmin and tries to smile. “When we’re in there, tell me something nice?”</p><p>So Seungmin does, to the best of his ability. They go inside the convenience store, where they buy some cheap ramen with a red-faced, stony Hyunjin and warm it up with rickety ramen-making machines. Apart from Seungmin’s attempts at conversation, they sit in silence, slurping up noodles and scrolling through their phones. </p><p>He looks across the table, where Hyunjin is just looking up from his bowl of spicy chicken ramen, and their eyes meet. </p><p>Something shivers down Seungmin’s spine. </p><p>For the first time that night, Hyunjin puts down his chopsticks and speaks directly to him. “Uh, I’m glad you came,” he says, not quite meeting Seungmin’s eyes. “Really.” </p><p>Jaemin smiles from beside him, but doesn’t say anything. “So Hyunjin, did you hear about the One Us Club?”</p><p>“Those bastards,” Hyunjin says immediately, with surprising feeling. “Why, did Neo Culture lose?”</p><p>With the mention of soccer, the sport all three boys have pretty much devoted their lives to, they dissolve into friendly banter. Despite the obvious melancholy of Jaemin and Hyunjin, there’s something companionable about the conversation, and when it’s finally time to drive back home, Seungmin leaves feeling strange and warm in his heart, worried for his teammates and worried, too, for himself. </p><p>Once Jaemin drops him off, Seungmin waits in the cold of the winter night for the bus. He checks his messages every few minutes, his pulse racing. Something swirls in his gut.</p><p>His phone dings. </p><p>
  <em>Unknown number: Hey, this is Hyunjin</em>
</p><p>Seungmin swallows. When he asked Hyunjin to exchange numbers, before they parted ways, he didn’t think he’d actually <em>do</em> it. Part of him is afraid of Hyunjin, or of that strange, warm feeling in his gut that he gets whenever he sees the tall, enigmatic boy. Another, larger part of him wants desperately to... do something. <em>Be</em> something. Something he's too cowardly to put into words yet.</p><p>Seungmin looks at the text again, feeling a nervous smile curve across his face. <em>Shit.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>btw jaemin is bi :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. the dragon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Seungmin's soccer club, Miroh, faces off against some of his national U-20 teammates. A surprise change of plans after the game puts him face-to-face with someone he's only heard about until now.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry this is so late, exams were more involved than I expected but at least they're over now! I have some plans for the next update and I'm super excited to share it within the next couple of days</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To everyone’s surprise, Seungmin’s soccer club, Miroh, edges out a 2-1 victory against One Us Club the following week, putting them in the final eight for the national championship. But they have to beat the JYP Tigers next if they want to move on, and Seungmin sees little chance of them beating Minho, Hyunjin <em>and</em> Jisung’s home team. </p><p>	Miroh’s team captain, a serious Aussie named Chris on loan from some famous Sydney club, spends most of the week they have to prepare teaching them new, complicated plays. Practices are about twice as long as usual, and each night Seungmin goes to sleep, the sound of their coach’s yelling still echoes tinnily in his ears. His muscles ache endlessly from exertion. </p><p>Like Chris, he, too, wants badly for them to win. Part of him recognizes that a lot of this desire comes from the immature wish to show his fellow U-20 teammates that he can do a lot more than sit on a bench. But there’s a futility to such a hope: JYP Tigers have won the national championship for the past five years. Miroh’s good, of course, but Seungmin’s not sure they’re <em>that</em> good. </p><p>	The day of the game, Seungmin wakes up to a text from Hyunjin: <em>good luck today. See you on the pitch.</em> They’ve texted on and off since the day his grandmother died, but never for very long.</p><p>There’s also a notification from Instagram, perkily informing him of a new post from @hannjisung: the silhouette of a man wearing a long black coat in pouring rain so thick it’s turned the atmosphere to fog. The man stands with his shoulders slumped in front of a black car, an iron gate barely visible in the background of the parking lot. The caption reads, <em>stay strong.</em> Jisung doesn’t tag Hyunjin in the photo, but he doesn’t need to. It’s obvious enough. Seungmin recognizes the careful tilt of the man’s shoulders, the closely-shaved neck of his haircut. </p><p><em>The funeral must have been recently.</em> He lets himself linger on the photograph for the barest of moments, to wonder what Hyunjin was thinking, to speculate for a torturous minute on the state of his relationship with Jisung. But then he closes down the app, and for good measure, turns off his notifications. </p><p>
  <em>I can’t afford to get distracted. Not today.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The few hours before the game, Miroh soccer club is in a fever of anxious activity. The team huddles in a humid corner of the locker room - all twenty or so of them - and stare at the white dry erase board covered with feverish circles and arrows until Seungmin’s head swims with positions and stats. They go over some of the JYP Tigers players, the ones they’ll need to watch out for: Hwang and Lee and Han and Seo, strikers and defenders and midfielders, all with stats much higher than most Miroh players can manage. Over and over, Chris reminds them that this game could be big, that Miroh hasn’t made it past eighth place in over ten years, that JYP Tigers has the most national championship wins of any Korean soccer club in the last twenty-five years. All the while, Seungmin feels sweat trickling down his temple; his heart patters away about twice as fast as normal. </p><p>Seungmin senses, all at once, the hungry strength of his teammates, their unrelenting desire to win, and it sets him a little off-balance. He can feel the nervous tapping of Jihoon’s cleats against the concrete floor like it’s coming from him. Chris’s stress, too, is almost tangible, visible in the knit of his eyebrows and his restless pacing. </p><p>He wants to win, of course. He couldn’t be a semi-professional player without the drive to succeed, not without holding that secret (or not-so-secret) wonder of what it’s like to be Messi, Pogba, Beckham, exploding stars with entire stadiums shouting their names. But at the same time, he’s starting to realize he doesn’t want it quite as much as the others. What he really wants, more than to hold a slick metal trophy, is to feel that blood-pumping magic, that endorphin rush of the ball between his feet and the sun pounding down on his back, his teammates shouting directions, the sharp rush of his breath hissing between his teeth. That bright reminder of why he started this wonderful, infinitely difficult sport in the first place. </p><p>“30 minutes, everyone,” Coach Im calls, his voice tight, pulling Seungmin from his reverie. “Time to head to the pitch.”</p><p>The chatter of Miroh’s twenty or so players abruptly stops. Seungmin looks around; everyone’s eyes are focused on Coach or Chris. One of his teammates, a younger recruit named Jeongin, looks like he’s about to throw up. And slowly, Miroh files out onto the pitch, too tense to speak. </p><p> </p><p>As soon as the team emerges from the bowels of the stadium, Seungmin scans the crowd. About three-quarters of the Miroh club stadium is filled, and the low hum of the fans picks up to a roar with their arrival. His brain begins to hum, his anxiety picking up as the team jogs out onto the pitch. Gray, slumping clouds hide the sun from view. A chilled wind runs through the pitch, the last remnants of the cold snap two and a half weeks earlier.</p><p>Somewhere in the crowd is Jaemin, who promised to take him for a drink after the game. The thought calms him a little: no matter how the next ninety minutes play out, he can count on Jaemin’s tactful reassurance and easy laughter to comfort him afterwards. </p><p>From beside him, he hears Jeongin take a labored swallow. Seungmin remembers suddenly that he’s new this year, fresh from a small, regional Busan high school team where he vastly outplayed everyone in sight. It’s clearly been an adjustment for him; that is, learning to play games where the outcome is far from set in stone. </p><p>Jeongin’s a good midfielder. No Lee Minho, Han Jisung, definitely no Paul Pogba. But he’s good. </p><p>Seungmin looks over at him with a grimace. “You okay?”</p><p>Jeongin nods. He has a naturally stony expression, his lips turned downward in a frown, but his eyes anxiously flicker from Seungmin’s face to the clump of red-clad players on the other side of the field. “You’ve played them before, right?” He asks. “They’re good, right?”</p><p>Seungmin takes a breath. He’s spotted Hyunjin, a tall, muscled figure across the field. He has his hands on his hips, passionately speaking to the JYP Tigers’ greying, middle-aged coach. </p><p>“They’re better than us,” Seungmin says finally, when he realizes that Jeongin is looking at him expectantly. “Most of them, at least.”</p><p>“Yeah, I figured,” Jeongin says. He shrugs, but it doesn’t carry the nonchalance he probably wanted it to. He looks like a kid, really, his shoulders small, eyes wide as dinner plates as he surveys the stadium.</p><p> A kid, but a kid on a professional team. A kid that can pass soccer balls quicker than the average person can blink. </p><p>Someone tosses Seungmin a ball, and the team starts a few drills. Everything falls away. It’s just him and his team and that white and black ball.</p><p> </p><p>The game is about as messy Seungmin expected it to be. For the most part, they’re evenly matched, and Miroh might have even had a fighting chance if it weren’t for Minho, Hyunjin and Jisung. Minho, a central midfielder, handles passes like he was born for it, balancing his co-existing defensive and offensive roles with remarkable grace. Jisung is an almost overly aggressive attacking midfielder, and Miroh’s offensive line quickly learns to keep the ball away from him whenever possible. Fifteen minutes into the first half, he even elbows Jeongin in the face so hard he gives the younger boy a bloody nose. And then there’s Hyunjin, dark hair pasted to his forehead with sweat, eyes narrowed, feet propelling him forward faster than Miroh’s defensive line can catch him. </p><p>Seungmin is the only one out of the three defenders that can keep up. He manages to keep Hyunjin, Jisung, or the Tigers’ forward from scoring throughout the entirety of the first half, but Miroh’s offensive and midfield players can’t seem to keep the ball away long enough to give their defenders  - namely, Seungmin - a break. He quickly begins to wear out from exhaustion. And once he’s traded out for a benched teammate early in the second half, it’s all over.</p><p>In the end, the JYP Tigers beat Miroh 3-1. It’s nothing to be ashamed of; in fact, it’s rather better than anyone expected. But still. The defeat stings. </p><p>The teams go to shake hands after the game, as is the custom. When Seungmin reaches Hyunjin, the other boy has a strange, appraising look in his eyes, like he’s looking at Seungmin from far away. But he’s otherwise expressionless, and doesn’t look at Seungmin for long. </p><p>It makes Seungmin’s heart skip. <em> See, I can play, too. </em></p><p>When he looks back over his shoulder, at the bundle of JYP Tigers celebrating on their side of the pitch, Hyunjin isn’t looking at him. </p><p> </p><p>After Seungmin takes his shower and gets himself ready to leave the locker room, he calls Jaemin, who picks up immediately. </p><p>“Well, that sucked,” Jaemin says by way of greeting, his voice made tinny by the compressed phone speakers. “You ready to leave?”</p><p>“Absolutely. Where are you?”</p><p>“In the parking garage, row 4B. Hey, uh, I ran into some of our guys on the way up here. They’re wondering if we want to get a drink with them?” </p><p>Seungmin shrugs, even though he knows Jaemin can’t see it. “What, like Hyunjin and Minho?”</p><p>“And Jisung.” There’s an undercurrent there, one that Seungmin tries hard to ignore. Somehow, Jaemin has picked up on Seungmin's complicated, unconscious bath of feelings for his kind-of friend, and his tone carries the implication: <em>you know, the one you don’t want to hang out with.</em></p><p>Seungmin swallows. He hasn’t seen Minho for ages. And Jisung is his <em>friend</em>, no matter how he might feel about the boy's romantic relationships. Besides, what could possibly go wrong?</p><p> </p><p>Jaemin and Seungmin stand near the front of the restaurant, surveying the cluster of tables in hopes of finding their friends. The low roar of chatter from the bar rolls over Seungmin, along with the smell of barbecued meat and cheap beer. </p><p>It doesn’t take long to find them. A group of four young men lean over a wooden table near the center, chattering amongst themselves. Seungmin sees Minho, stylish in his black bomber jacket, smirking like he’s just told a joke. Hyunjin, mid-laugh, sits beside him, his black jeans visible under the table, an all-too-familiar silver necklace chain peeking out from the collar of his t-shirt. Jisung sits facing away from them, but Seungmin recognizes the long, unruly hair that almost sweeps the base of the boy’s neck. </p><p>There’s another, unknown boy with them, sitting next to Jisung and facing Hyunjin, so Seungmin can’t see his face. He’s wearing a black JYP Tigers training jacket, a tiny silver hoop dangling from one ear. </p><p>Jaemin pushes amiably past him, greeting the boys with a bright hello. </p><p>Seungmin’s eyes flicker to Hyunjin, and his heart skips a beat. Hyunjin’s eyes seem to catch him from half a room away, his mouth curving a smile. He reaches up and touches his hair, always falling into his face, and looks back at Minho, saying something Seungmin doesn’t catch.</p><p>Jaemin and Seungmin slide into the chairs at the heads of the table. Seungmin sits kitty-corner from both Hyunjin and the new guy, who gives him a polite smile.</p><p>Seungmin glances at him. “I don’t think we’ve met.”</p><p>For a moment, the boy doesn’t respond. His eyes are piercing, even more so than Hyunjin, and something about his gaze makes Seungmin uncomfortable. Seungmin feels like a butterfly pinned to a wall, the boy’s gaze dissecting him with the analytic ease of a scientist. He notices the stark ink of a tattoo peeking out from the bottom curve of the boy’s loose shirt collar, just below the sharp edge of a collarbone. His expression and his appearance are a strange contrast.</p><p>Finally, a moment too late for it to be anything but awkward, the boy says, “I’m Changbin. Uh, you’re Seungmin, right?”</p><p>Seungmin nods, but doesn’t speak. He thinks back to the month prior, when he overheard Hyunjin and Jisung arguing in the pool. Is this the Changbin that Jisung cheated with? Seungmin isn’t sure, but he notices the press of their shoulders, and Changbin’s barely-hidden hand on Jisung’s jean-clad thigh, just far enough under the table that Hyunjin can’t see. </p><p>Minho barks a laugh. “Great. Now that we’re all acquainted…” He leans towards Seungmin. “Fuck, man, who taught you to play like that?”</p><p>There’s a chorus of assenting queries from the other Tigers, including Changbin, which Seungmin finds weird, because he has no reason to expect anything of him. Across the table, Jaemin catches his eye wryly, as if to say, <em>what can you do?</em></p><p>Seungmin settles with rolling his eyes. “Man, it’s almost like I could make the national team.”</p><p>Jaemin coughs, but it might be a laugh. “So,” He says with a grin, “are we gonna order or what?” </p><p>“Uh, yeah,” Changbin says. He reaches across Jisung, to grab at the menus sitting at the end of the table, and Jisung doesn’t lean back. When he pulls back, their shoulders bump, too softly to be unintentional. Changbin’s hand visibly tightens on Jisung’s thigh.</p><p>Jisung throws a quick glance at Hyunjin, one that Seungmin just barely catches.</p><p>Hyunjin’s eyes narrow, so quick Seungmin thinks he might have imagined it. </p><p> </p><p> It doesn’t escape his notice that when everyone else orders beer or wine, Hyunjin orders fruit juice. Neither does the fact that his order, which might normally warrant some good-natured heckling from friends, goes uncommented on. </p><p> </p><p>They spend the next hour or so catching up. Minho, who’s been out as gay for years, regales them with his epic breakup with a guy on the national hockey team, who’s apparently been cheating on him with his ex-girlfriend. Jaemin teases Seungmin about the flirty DM he got from a girl from his hometown a few days ago, and his cold, awkward rejection of her attempts. Eventually, Minho and Jisung quiz Jaemin on his relationship with Mina, their questions getting more and more inappropriate even as Jaemin gets more and more visibly uncomfortable. Finally, to Seungmin’s relief, Hyunjin deftly changes the subject. </p><p>“While we’re on the subject, whatever happened to that girl?” Hyunjin asks casually, only looking up for the barest of moments from his kimchi soup. </p><p>“Who are you asking?” Minho cuts in, visibly amused. “Because it better not be me.”</p><p>“Uh, Jisung.”</p><p>There’s a pause, too long, the kind of pause for hiding something. Seungmin watches as Hyunjin’s hair starts to fall, slow motion, into his soup, and wishes they wouldn’t bring their relationship drama to the reunion. Just as a lock of black hair skims the surface of the red broth, he says without thinking, “Hey, your hair.” </p><p>The entire table turns to look at him, including Hyunjin, who looks up from his soup, seemingly nonplussed. “What?”</p><p>“Oh, uh, you were about to get hair in your soup,” Seungmin says self-consciously.</p><p>“Oh, thanks.” Hyunjin pushes it back, then turns to look at Jisung, his expression almost defiant. “So?”</p><p>Jisung makes very unsubtle eye contact with Changbin, who’s startlingly still, then looks back at Hyunjin. “What girl?” He says carefully. </p><p>“You know. The one with the dragon tattoo.” Hyunjin gestures to his upper chest, then spoons up more stew. “It’s a big one, I hear. Can’t miss it.” </p><p>Changbin chokes on his beer, his eyes wide, so hard that Jisung has to pound him on the back. Then, subtly, he adjusts his shirt with one hand, and Seungmin watches as the rounded edge of a larger design disappears under grey cotton. </p><p>Seungmin also catches the tail end of a strange, confused look from Minho, directed at Changbin. It’s one that Changbin studiously ignores, still coughing up a lung. </p><p>Hmm. </p><p>Jaemin, however, doesn’t seem to notice the sudden tension. “This girl has a tattoo of a dragon on her, uh, chest?” He says incredulously. “Wow.”</p><p>Hyunjin shrugs. “Well, I mean, I dunno. That’s just what I heard. Jisung’s the one who had sex with her.”</p><p>“Nice,” Minho says, with feeling. Seungmin is struck, suddenly, by the contrast in personality between Minho on and off the field. “So?” He continues, grinning wickedly. “The details?”</p><p>Jisung smiles weakly. “So…” </p><p>Seungmin feels abruptly uncomfortable. If he already doesn’t want to hear about Hyunjin and Jisung’s relationship drama, he really doesn’t want to hear an edited recounting of Changbin and Jisung’s sex life. He excuses himself to use the restroom, but spends five minutes staring at himself in the gritty, smudged mirror, taking slow breaths, feeling very… apart from it all. </p><p>The memory of his recurring dream surfaces unbidden. In one corner of his mind, he sees the faceless boy, white sheets and a hand entwined with his, and it pulls the breath from his lungs. He stares himself down in the mirror, his reflection blinking back at him oddly. He presses the curves of his hands into the cool, smooth ceramic of the sink and waits for the thick sensation in his throat to disappear.</p><p>When he returns, Hyunjin’s seat is conspicuously empty, his coat gone from the back of his chair. Jisung’s face is bright red, but something shimmers in his eyes, something very like the defiance he’d seen in Hyunjin’s expression earlier. </p><p> </p><p>“Where did he go?” Seungmin asks as soon as he’s sitting down. To his relief, conversation has moved on; Minho’s chattering animatedly to Jaemin about his new cat. He sees Changbin’s hand on Jisung’s thigh in the corner of his vision; Jisung’s hand snakes around Changbin’s lower back, just high enough that Seungmin - and, probably, Jaemin - can see. His stomach roils. </p><p>“His aunt called,” Minho says in a low voice. “Something about his grandmother.”</p><p>“Shouldn’t someone-” He pauses just as he makes direct eye contact with Jisung, who’s frowning at him sharply. The boy shakes his head, so small the movement is nearly invisible. </p><p>By a stroke of luck, it’s then that his phone starts to buzz in his pocket. He pulls it out: Mom. </p><p>He bites his lip. “Shit. Guys, I have to take this.”</p><p> </p><p>“-and we really want you to be here,” his mom is insisting through the phone, her voice barely audible over the undeterminable clamor of the background. He hears his dad’s voice, a dog barking, maybe some local construction. Maybe they’re having their kitchen redone again. “Eunbi wants you to be here,” she continues wheedlingly.</p><p>Seungmin kicks at a rock on the sidewalk, trying to get his frustration under control. He can hear the loud chatter of the restaurant floating out into the cool evening. Light trickles out, illuminating part of the sidewalk with a faint glow. </p><p>He sighs. “I told you, training starts that day. And no offense to Eunbi, but telling Coach I’m missing conditioning for my second cousin’s baby shower won’t fly. Besides, I haven’t talked to her since I was five. I doubt she’ll miss me.”</p><p>“You’ll really regret saying that when I’m gone,” his mother chides. “You’re wasting all your time on that sport.  Take it as an opportunity to spend some much-needed time with your family.” She takes a labored breath, like she’s preparing for an explosion. Seungmin braces himself.</p><p> “And, honey, I think it’s time you get a real job, anyway. I think this is a sign.”</p><p>Seungmin takes a long, calming breath, then another. He clenches his fist in his free hand, feeling his nails press into his palm. <em>Calm down.</em> “Look. I’ll talk to Coach and do what I can. But I can’t promise anything. I’ll see you at Chuseok.” Then he hangs up, just as he hears his mom start to protest again. </p><p>He loves his mother beyond words, but the unfailing, rarely subliminal chorus of messages telling him to <em>get a real job</em> from a family filled with doctors and academics can wear away at his nerves. He steps toward the restaurant, to rejoin his friends in the restaurant, but stops when a familiar voice calls out his name. </p><p>He turns. Hyunjin stands just a few feet away, his eyebrows raised, hands tucked into his pockets. He’s wearing his black coat, the one from the Instagram photo, and his necklace dangles in full view from his neck. Seungmin knows it rarely appears from below his collar. He must have been messing with it. </p><p>“You good?” Hyunjin asks, gesturing to Seungmin’s phone. </p><p>Seungmin shrugs by way of response. “I thought you left.” He pockets the phone. From behind him, he hears the bright jab of a woman’s laugh, blurred and softened through the restaurant door. </p><p>Something flickers across Hyunjin’s expression, too difficult to make out in the gray of the evening. “Uh, I was just about to.”</p><p>Seungmin takes a breath, feeling his heartbeat speed up. “Yeah, me too. You want to walk with me?”</p><p>The pleased, somewhat confused surprise that breaks across Hyunjin’s face is completely worth that quick burst of awful adrenaline, racing through Seungmin’s heart and through his limbs. “Sure,” he replies, with a quirk of a smile. “As long as you’re heading to the bus stop.”</p><p>“Yep.” Seungmin sends a quick text to Jaemin to tell him he’s leaving, then starts in the direction of the bus station, side by side with Hyunjin, wondering at his own daring.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. neon lights</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Seungmin takes a walk with Hyunjin and discovers some things about both himself and the tall, enigmatic boy beside him.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At just past sundown, the streets of the Seoul suburb that Miroh soccer club calls home are bustling with activity. Neon signs light up bright against the black of the sky, and the low murmur of conversation between clumps of young adults clad in identical black coats follows them up the length of the street. The cobblestones curve under Seungmin’s feet, and the cold breeze whispers past his cheek, soft as a breath. He’s walked these streets hundreds of times in the last six or seven years, and each time, the ruts and pockets in the paving ingrain themselves further in his memory. </p>
<p>It occurs to him early on that he may not have thought this through; while inviting Hyunjin to walk with him may have seemed like a good idea at the time, now that he’s actually doing it, he can’t think of anything to say. He debates asking about Jisung, asking about the funeral, asking about the drinking. All the while, he can <em>feel</em> Hyunjin walking beside him, even though they’re not touching. </p>
<p>Eventually, Seungmin gives in. “Uh, are you and Jisung...” he starts, eyes flicking to Hyunjin’s face. “Still together?”</p>
<p>Hyunjin glances at him, his expression a mix of amusement and something darker. He burrows his chin in his coat, as if trying to keep out the blustery winter wind. When he speaks, his tone is just short of ironic. “Why do you care?”</p>
<p>Seungmin shrugs. “I don’t.” <em>I do, I care a lot, and I don’t know why.</em> “Just wondering.”</p>
<p>Hyunjin tilts his head a little, like he’s considering. His eyes flash under the neon lights of the passing stores. “Depends on what you mean by together,” he says finally. “Like, going on dates kind of together? Or sleeping together? Because you’re gonna have to be more specific.”</p>
<p>Seungmin makes a face. “Ugh, forget I asked.” </p>
<p>Hyunjin laughs. “Oh, by the way, what did you think of Changbin?”</p>
<p>Seungmin bites his lip, trying to decide how frank he wants to be. Should he tell Hyunjin about the hand on Jisung’s thigh, the arm threaded around his waist? Ultimately, he decides against it. “He seems… nice enough.”</p>
<p>Hyunjin shrugs. “I suppose he does, if you like that sort of thing. He’s smart,” he continues carefully. “He’s got the brain of a coach, not a player. Or at least, I think so.”</p>
<p>Seungmin looks out at the path, the bustle of the Friday evening. A couple walking in front of them put their heads together and whisper something; a girl breaks into laughter up ahead, leaning against a boy about their age. He decides to bite the bullet, and ventures, “How long has he been friends with Jisung? They seemed, uh, close.”</p>
<p>To his surprise, Hyunjin is silent for a few moments. There’s a scuffing sound as he kicks at a stray rock, his head down. “They’ve always been close.” His face is stone. “Closer than I’d like.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Seungmin’s not sure what else to say; he’s mostly startled at Hyunjin’s honesty. He glances over at the other boy. Light pours from the open door of a restaurant, and he sees a haggard-looking teenage waiter, the shouting face of a woman, as they pass by. The light from inside the door, shining out onto the sidewalk, gives Hyunjin’s cheeks a strange, orange glow, illuminating him from behind. Seungmin is reminded all at once of the night of his grandmother’s death, of the bright light of the car and the dark shadow hiding his expression. Seungmin wonders at the sharp planes of Hyunjin’s face, the other boy’s lips red like he’s been biting them. He feels very far away. </p>
<p>	Hyunjin seems to sense Seungmin’s eyes on him, because he glances over, meeting Seungmin’s gaze. Seungmin feels his heart stutter; Hyunjin’s eyes are bright, almost glittering with the light in the background, but despite that, he looks - <em>tired.</em> His mouth is open like he’s about to say something, but he abruptly closes it. Then, “Jisung sees you watching me, you know.”</p>
<p>	<em>Ah fuck.</em> Seungmin’s pulse immediately accelerates. He feels his heart pounding in his chest, his cheeks growing warm. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p>
<p>	Hyunjin shrugs. He looks like he’s trying hard not to smile, and it’s not really working. “Fine. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He looks up ahead, then frowns. “Oh, fuck. Is that the yellow line?”</p>
<p>	Seungmin follows his gaze, past clumps of black-clad pedestrians and a crosswalk, to the next block. He just barely makes out the shape of a yellow bus, idling by the curb. “Shit. Yeah, I think so.” He fumbles for his phone. “Do you know when the next-”</p>
<p>	Hyunjin grabs his arm before he can finish, breaking into a dead sprint. Seungmin gets a half-second of confused shock before he’s dragged along. They cross meters of pavement in seconds; apparently professional soccer training is also good for catching buses. </p>
<p>	“What are you doing?” Seungmin asks him - or, rather, yells at him - as he dodges a disgruntled woman. He murmurs a quick apology, but before he can finish it, Hyunjin has already pulled him through another crowd. “There’s a bus in like fifteen minutes!”</p>
<p>	“I have to make this one!” He calls back. Their shoes pound against the pavement; he hears a woman laugh, and a snatch of the words, “... what are they...”</p>
<p>	“Yeah, but why are you bringing me?” Seungmin can feel Hyunjin’s hand, cold in the wind, tight around his wrist. They race across the crosswalk in seconds, while the light is still green. Several cars honk. Seungmin gets a millisecond to grimace apologetically and attempt a bow before they exit the crosswalk and come to an abrupt, jarring stop, just as the bus is closing its doors. </p>
<p>	“Hey,” Hyunjin says, waving at the bus driver with a smile. “Excuse me!” He’s not even out of breath. Granted, Seungmin’s isn’t really either, but given the speed they were running at, he feels like they should be. </p>
<p>	Hyunjin’s phone buzzes, and the moment he pulls it out of his coat pocket, all the energy seems to leave him at once.</p>
<p>Slowly, the bus doors open. The bus driver waves them on, frowning. </p>
<p>Hyunjin bumps Seungmin’s shoulder, not quite but almost smiling. “Thanks for hanging out with me.”</p>
<p>Seungmin feels his heart trip over itself but tries not to let it show. “Of course,” He says, biting his lip to keep from smiling. He wonders what was in that text, but doesn’t ask. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seungmin gets on the bus after him. The yellow fluorescent lights reveal a near-empty interior, rows and rows of plastic seats mostly unoccupied. There’s a middle-aged man wearing a dirty black jacket sleeping in the first row. A woman wearing a waitress uniform clutches her phone near the back, her eyes flickering like lightning from the window to the boys.</p>
<p>Hyunjin makes his way to a seat. Just as he reaches the second to last row, he stumbles, letting out a startled huff. He looks back at Seungmin. In the bright fluorescent light of the bus, Seungmin can see his face in full color for the first time since the restaurant. Hyunjin’s eyes, though bright, are ringed with a barely-contained tiredness, grey like dust. “Do you wanna…” He gestures to the row nearest to him. </p>
<p>Seungmin nods, and they sit side by side just as the bus starts rolling again. Someone’s left the window nearest to their row open, and the cold night air wafts past Seungmin’s cheek. He shivers.</p>
<p>Hyunjin doesn’t seem to notice the chill. He slumps over in his seat, his chin almost against his chest, just enough lack of energy that he might be trying to hide how exhausted he is. The side of his face turned away from the fluorescents is thrown in shadow, reflected grimly in the dark bus window beside him. </p>
<p>Hyunjin looks over at him. He frowns. “What?”</p>
<p>“You look awful,” Seungmin admits. “Like you haven’t slept in weeks.” <em>What happened between here and the restaurant,</em> he wants to say. <em>How did I not notice?</em></p>
<p>Hyunjin shrugs. He quirks his mouth, like he’s about to make a joke, but then his face falls, and they don’t say anything for a while.  </p>
<p>There are so many things Seungmin wants to ask him, but he can tell it’s too early in their relationship. He’s so afraid of stepping off this razor’s edge.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A few minutes later, Hyunjin begins to shift in his seat, leaning his head low like he’s about to fall asleep staring at the floor. Then, carefully, he places his head on Seungmin’s shoulder. </p>
<p>Seungmin nearly jumps out of his seat, he’s so surprised. The weight of Hyunjin’s head is heavy with the realness of it, the sensation of hair tickling his neck, sandalwood cologne wafting into his nose. He’s so warm, too. And tense.  </p>
<p>So softly Seungmin almost doesn’t hear it, Hyunjin whispers, “Is this okay?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Seungmin says. He hears his voice catch, hears a smile in his voice, and hopes Hyunjin doesn’t make anything of it. He hadn’t realized Hyunjin was capable of that emotion, running smoothly under his words- a hesitancy that makes Seungmin’s heart race. <em>Oh.</em> </p>
<p>Hyunjin doesn’t say anything else, but he relaxes into Seungmin’s shoulder. A phone dings, a text tone Seungmin doesn’t recognize, but Hyunjin makes no move to answer it. He just shifts slightly in his seat, like he’s asleep. </p>
<p>Seungmin wonders if it’s Jisung, but the feeling on Hyunjin’s puffy coat brushing against his arm, the soft scent of cologne, blurs at the edges of his brain, so he can’t make himself worry about it for too long. </p>
<p>When his stop finally comes, Hyunjin is fully asleep, and it pricks at Seungmin’s heart a little to wake the other boy up. When he does, his gaze is confused and unfocused for a long second, an exhausted sleeper rudely awakened. They exchange awkward goodbyes and a long gaze that unwinds something in Seungmin’s chest. He almost says something, but then remembers Changbin’s hand on Jisung’s thigh, the tight, sick feeling in his stomach, and doesn’t.</p>
<p>After the bus rolls away, Seungmin stands at the bus stop for a few minutes, listening to the roar of the cars and buses as they roll down the city streets, to remind himself that he’s awake. When he finally starts walking to his apartment nearby, he’s grinning broadly. The night air is cold on his cheeks, but the right side of his body is still warm, warm with the ghost of a Hwang Hyunjin’s touch. </p>
<p>His phone buzzes. </p>
<p>
  <em>Hwang Hyunjin: hey you want to hang out next week<br/>
Seungmin: will Jisung be there<br/>
Hwang Hyunjin: fuck no<br/>
Hwang Hyunjin: my place?</em>
</p>
<p>	Seungmin’s heart thrums. He wonders, suddenly, what Hyunjin is thinking. </p>
<p>	<em>Seungmin: sure</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The day Seungmin signed to Miroh’s professional team, it was his seventeenth birthday. He was still living with his aunt and uncle, still spending his nights juggling coursework and practices, fitting in sleep where he could. It was a Monday. A slight, all-day drizzle turned into torrential rain about 15 minutes in, so practice had been canceled. Instead of heading home, though, the boys holed up in the locker room, blasting rap music and chattering away. Seungmin watched from afar, unsure if or how to join in. And then his coach pulled him aside, then all the way to his office, and gave him the contract.</p>
<p>When he got home, his aunt and uncle sat him down and made him understand: this was not a career you chose if you wanted ease. It could be ease in relationships, ease in finding regular hours, ease in paying rent- all of that went away the minute he signed his name. They wanted him to consider other options. College, maybe. A steady 9 to 5 desk job, a promise of a mortgage and a marriage by 25. Their dreams. His parents’ dreams.</p>
<p>To their frustration, Seungmin didn’t have to think for long. That picture, a house and kids and wife and office, had never belonged to him. If he wanted ease, he would have hidden the part of himself that wanted in some deep, dark part of his heart and moved back in with his parents, to go to college and do things their way. But he didn’t.</p>
<p>So he signed the contract, for the most part, he hasn’t looked back. This is the life he’s always wanted: practices and games, shouted commands from his coach ringing in his ears long after he’s returned to his apartment, laughing with his teammates over beer. But despite all that, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t wish he wasn’t quite so lonely.</p>
<p>Sometimes, days like these remind him of what he’s missing. He stays awake for hours that night, desperately praying to avoid that awful, heart-wrenching dream of the boy and the morning and peace. He’s both lucky and not; he doesn’t dream of the boy. Instead, he dreams of Hwang Hyunjin, of skin and lips and hot breath and hands tangled in soft, dark hair, and when he wakes up galvanized, he can’t figure out which dream is better - or worse.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. new growth, old roots</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Seungmin's team has their end-of-season dinner. Later on in the week, he meets up with Hyunjin at the other boy's apartment, where not everything goes as planned.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>October turns to November in the time between Miroh’s loss against the Tigers and Seungmin’s visit to Hyunjin’s house. The cold snap from several weeks ago returns, quickly becoming more of a deep, semi-permanent freeze. It settles in the corners of Seungmin’s apartment like a tiny, unwelcome visitor, hiding in the pipes and expelling cold air from the cracks in his windows. Early in the week, he replaces his cotton sheets with a thick down comforter. He even pulls out his hat and mittens from the deep recesses of his closet. All the while, the town seems heavy with the knowledge of the coming winter, thick grey clouds rolling in like blankets and smothering the sun. </p>
<p>With the coming of winter is the end of the Korean soccer league season. The Tigers and the other three remaining teams will fight it out for the championship title within the next week, but for everyone else, the season is over. And since conditioning for the next season won’t start until at least February, Seungmin has three or four months of nothing spreading out in front of him. Gratefully, Miroh pays him enough that he doesn’t need to get a job in the meantime; all he needs to do is stay in shape: eat well, work out, and do drills at the indoor court at their local gym, where the amateur players practice. He texts back and forth with Jaemin throughout the week, trying to find a time when they can work out together. He even gets a text message from Felix, congratulating him on the end of the season. </p>
<p>	On Thursday, Miroh soccer club has their end-of-season dinner, a four-hour event at a black-tie restaurant where the club sponsors, chairman, coaches, and players all meet to celebrate the season. As a nineteen-year-old, it’s Seungmin’s second time at the dinner, but that doesn’t make it any less intimidating. He spends the night at a corner table with Jeongin and a few of the other younger guys in the team, idly sipping wine and keeping up small talk about conditioning and the world cup and the boys’ girlfriends and the weather. At some point in the night, Chris, decked out in pinstriped Ralph Lauren, is named next year’s captain. Seungmin watches with a smile as the relatively short, muscly Australian shakes hands with the chairman, eyes bright.</p>
<p>	“You don’t seem surprised,” Jeongin observes to Seungmin as they watch a grinning Chris return to his seat. Jeongin’s messing absentmindedly with his tie, slowly undoing it, and one of the guys at their table slaps his wrist to stop him.</p>
<p>	Seungmin shakes his head. “No. He’ll be captain until his contract is over, I think.”</p>
<p>	“When’s that?” </p>
<p>	Seungmin shrugs. “Oh, next year, maybe, the year after that at the longest.”</p>
<p>	“And then you’ll be captain,” one of the other guys says casually, taking a sip of white wine. He’s Brazilian, if Seungmin remembers correctly, on loan from a big Sao Paulo team, but his Korean is impeccable. His name’s something short and foreign- Ray, maybe? No, Kai.</p>
<p>	Seungmin laughs, short and surprised. “Hah, no. No way.”</p>
<p>	Jeongin blinks at him, wide and innocent. “Then who?”</p>
<p>	“I don’t know, someone a lot older.” Seungmin changes the subject quickly. “Hey, look, it’s the chairman.” He hears the sound of wooden chairs grating slightly against the floor as his table stands up, smiling brightly to greet Mr. Park. </p>
<p>However, as much as he tries to ignore it, the thought of captainship keeps following him all the up until the end of the night. He can’t help but wonder if the boys are right, in a weird, sideways kind of way- he’s the only one on the Korean national team in the Miroh soccer club, after all. He’s too young now, of course, but in four, five years? Maybe. The thought sends an excited thrill through his veins. But that might just be the wine.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	Later that night, he gets a text from Jaemin, who’s end-of-season dinner is scheduled for the same evening.</p>
<p>
  <em>Jaemin: noo cap is retiring early :(<br/>
Jaemin: we got a new captain im so sad</em>
</p>
<p>	It’s that time in the soccer season: a time for beginnings and endings, the start of a three month no-man’s-land where one of the only things bridging the gap between now and spring conditioning is the promise of renewal. Seungmin can feel it whispering in the air as the chairman gives his final toast: the feeling, the hope that next season, next championship, next world cup, things will be different. And through the haze of the wine, he can almost feel that hope taking seed in his own heart. It thrums through his veins: <em>next year, next year, things will be different.</em></p>
<p>	On Friday morning, he checks the sports news page to discover the top headline proclaiming: <em>JYP Tigers advance to league finals after stunning 5-0 victory.</em> The article, written by a top news outlet, is accompanied by a professional photograph of Hwang Hyunjin in the characteristic red JYP Tigers jersey, about twenty feet from the goal. His dark hair sticks to his forehead, his body twisted with the force of his kick. Under the photo is a caption: <em>#9, Hwang Hyunjin, with the goal of the night.</em><br/>
</p>
<p>He texts Hyunjin to congratulate him, and gets a brief, seemingly surprised reply of thanks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>It’s Friday evening, the day of Hyunjin and Seungmin’s plans to meet up at Hyunjin’s apartment. Seungmin is standing just past the doorway of the other boy’s home, unsure what to do. </p>
<p>	“Make yourself at home,” Hyunjin says, with the irony and casualness of someone who’s said the same words too many times to count.</p>
<p>	Seungmin shifts his weight and hears the floorboards creak under him in response. Hyunjin’s apartment is much sparer than he would have expected, given the visibly expensive clothing and shoes he’s always wearing. A blue polyester couch sits in the middle of the main room, facing a nicked Sony TV standing on a wooden chest. Across the room, a door hangs partially open, and Seungmin sees a flash of a glass bottle, the edge of a blue comforter. The kitchen is remarkably spare as well, standing open to the rest of the apartment. A tiny round table with two chairs sits in the middle. </p>
<p>	“You can leave your shoes somewhere there,” Hyunjin says, gesturing off towards the wall of the foyer. “Have you eaten yet?” </p>
<p>	“Not yet,” Seungmin responds, reaching down to pull at the laces of his street shoes. He follows Hyunjin’s gaze. Against the wall is a rubber mat filled with shoes of various styles, including at least three pairs of spotless Nikes, shiny leather dress shoes, and weird off-white sneakers with thick soles that might have been Yeezys, all arranged haphazardly, like they were kicked off rather than carefully arranged. Which, knowing Hyunjin, they definitely were. </p>
<p>	“Do you want to order out, then? I know a really good pizza place nearby,” Hyunjin’s voice calls from the sofa. </p>
<p>Seungmin looks up. “Yeah, sure.” </p>
<p>Hyunjin is leaning against one sofa shoulder, turning around at a sharp angle so he can see Seungmin. His hair is really getting long, Seungmin notices, the boy’s dark, silky locks falling into his eyes. His mouth quirks as he meets Seungmin’s eyes, and he tugs at the collar of his black graphic tee almost absentmindedly. “Cool. I’ll call them, then.” </p>
<p>Seungmin takes a seat on the opposite edge of the couch, so there’s a good foot and a half, two feet of space between them. Hyunjin dials the pizza place; Seungmin watches his own reflection in the shiny black TV screen. </p>
<p>Hyunjin finishes the call, clicking his phone’s off button. “They’ll be here in thirty minutes.”</p>
<p>There’s a pause.</p>
<p> “So…” Seungmin says awkwardly. </p>
<p>“So…” Hyunjin repeats, sounding more amused than anything else. He pushes his hair away from his face, running one hand across his scalp, and silky hair falls in slow motion back across his forehead. Seungmin’s brain flashes a memory of his dream last week, the one that continues to linger in his brain: skin, lips and running his hands through that hair. His throat tightens. He grapples for something to say before his cheeks start turning red, before the memory overwhelms him.</p>
<p>Hyunjin beats him to it. “Did you guys have your season dinner already?”</p>
<p>Seungmin nods. “Yeah, yesterday. They made Chris Bang captain again.”</p>
<p>“He’s good,” Hyunjin says with a slight raise of his eyebrows. “So I’m not surprised. Which team is he on loan from again?”</p>
<p>	Seungmin grimaces as he thinks. “Oh, um…  Sydney FC, maybe? I can’t remember, he doesn’t really talk about it that much.” </p>
<p>	“I don’t blame him. Sydney FC sucks,” Hyunjin says, a smile curving across his face. “Miroh’s much better.”</p>
<p>	Seungmin scoffs, feeling his cheeks warm a little with the compliment. “I don’t know about that. Didn’t they win the Australian league championships last year?”</p>
<p>	Hyunjin frowns. “No. That was Adelaide United. Sydney got fifth.”</p>
<p>	Seungmin blinks. <em>That’s precise.<em> “I didn’t know you watched Aussie football.”</em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>	Hyunjin gives him an appraising look, then glances down at his phone, like he’s checking for a notification. “I think there’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He pauses, then smiles. “I guess we’ll have to get to know each other.”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>	Seungmin feels his heart trip over itself before he can take a breath. <em>Calm down, Min.</em></p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>And from then on, surprisingly, it isn’t awkward. They talk for the better part of four hours, making their way through a large cheese pizza and some soda Hyunjin found in his refrigerator. They talk about soccer, of course, both their own teams and the teams they watch (Hyunjin roots for some tiny, aggressive club based out of Melbourne, while Seungmin confesses that he still follows Son Heungmin’s English football club, the name of which sounds an awful lot like Daffy Duck choking on wood). They talk about paychecks, spring conditioning, their U-20 teammates. But they talk about other things, too: what they miss from home, whether they have any siblings (Hyunjin is an only child), their favorite childhood dishes. Hyunjin even mentions that he’s been learning to meditate since his grandmother died, to try to deal with his grief in a healthy way. </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>And all the while, the two feet of space on the sofa between them gradually becomes more like six inches, both boys taking up more space as they become more comfortable with each other. Seungmin can feel something beating in his gut, soft as butterfly wings, a tightness unwinding in his stomach that he didn’t even know existed. He looks back at Hyunjin, who’s in the middle of regaling him with a legendary prank he and his high school friends played on their old math teacher, and realizes he’s been smiling.</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>It’s almost midnight when the doorbell rings, loud and insistent. Hyunjin’s third-floor apartment is accessed from an outside walk, and Seungmin has been able to hear rain drilling down on the concrete walk for the past hour or so. </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Hyunjin picks up his phone from the shoulder of the couch, where it’s been sitting. “Oh, fuck. It’s really late.” He looks up at Seungmin, his eyes wide. “Do you think the inter-city buses are still running?”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Seungmin frowns. <em>Shit.</em> “I’ll check.” </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>	He opens up the bus schedule on his phone just as the doorbell rings again. Seungmin thinks he might hear a male voice, calling out from outside, but the sound is rendered vague and difficult to make out by the pounding of the rain. </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>	Hyunjin’s phone buzzes. He glances down at the screen, then frowns deeply, muttering something under his breath that sounds a lot like an expletive. </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>	“What is it?”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>	Hyunjin bites his lip. Something crosses his face, an emotion Seungmin can’t quite pin down. “Jisung is outside.”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>	<em>Oh, come on.</em> Seungmin can’t believe this. He watches as the taller boy gets up from the sofa and walks quickly to the door, the floorboards creaking slightly. Just before Hyunjin unlocks the door, he turns back, making eye contact with Seungmin. He’s grimacing slightly. “Uh, this might be bad.”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Hyunjin shakes his head. “Just trust me. And… I’m sorry.” He pulls open the door.<br/>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>And Jisung is standing there, half-drenched and mid-laugh, looking at his phone. He’s wearing a stiff white windbreaker covered with frigid rain, his hood up so a shadow casts over his tanned face. He looks up and meets Hyunjin’s eyes. “Babe, what the fuck, I’ve been out here for-” </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>The problem with being a U-20 unknown is that even if you’re Hwang Hyunjin, you’re unlikely to be able to afford a sizable apartment this close to Seoul proper. As it is, the moment Jisung glances past Hyunjin, he’s afforded a straight eye line from the door to the edge of the opposite wall, between which are the TV, the sofa, and Seungmin. He cuts off the moment they make eye contact, and his broad smile grows faint. </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>“What is he doing here?” Jisung’s doing a thing with his voice that makes it clear he’s trying to control any hint of jealousy; his tone goes up in weird places. He’s frowning. “I didn’t know you guys were... friends.”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Hyunjin’s shoulders move slightly, like he’s suppressing a sigh. He glances back at Seungmin. “Yeah. We are.” </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Seungmin would be lying if that statement didn’t make his chest burn.</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Hyunjin’s hand rests on the doorframe, almost but not quite blocking Jisung’s way in.  “Do you need anything?” </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>“It’s kind of late to be hanging out with friends.” Jisung’s tone is mild, almost uncharacteristically so, but his expression and the implication of his statement are anything but. </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Seungmin’s stomach drops as he discovers on his phone that the next inter-city bus runs at 5:30 AM. If he wants to get home before dawn, he’ll have to walk the nearly twenty miles between here and Seungmin’s apartment. <em>Fuck,</em> he thinks desperately. <em>What do I do now?</em></p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>“Stop it,” Hyunjin says from the doorway, his tone hard. “Just- go home, Jisung.”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>It’s the wrong thing to say, and Seungmin knows it.</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Jisung’s expression immediately darkens. “Well, I thought we agreed you wouldn’t fuck him.”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Seungmin can’t believe what he’s hearing. <em>I’m sorry, what?</em></p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>“That’s not what this is!” Hyunjin’s ears are bright red, but his expression looks more angry than embarrassed. He readjusts the collar of his shirt, and a thin swath of collarbone disappears under a black logo. “Do you even see him right now? How we’re both fully clothed? I can have <em>friends,</em> you fucker.”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>“Look,” Seungmin says. They both start, like they’d forgotten he could speak. “I was just leaving.” He stands up, and grabs the empty pizza box from the floor, depositing it lightly on Hyunjin’s kitchen counter. “Thanks for having me.”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>“There’s a bus for you?” Hyunjin sounds incredulous. “At this time of night?”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Seungmin shrugs. His face is burning, and he avoids both of their gazes, trained intensely on him. “I’ll figure something out.” It’s a more polite way of saying “no,” something his mother would always do when he was growing up whenever she was inconvenienced.</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Hyunjin, to his credit, seems to catch on immediately. His face falls. “No. No way. What are you gonna do, walk all the way back to your apartment? And in the rain?” </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Seungmin doesn’t respond at first. “I’ll figure something out,” he repeats, once he realizes they’re waiting for him to reply.  “It’s fine.” </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Hyunjin looks furious, and for a split second, Seungmin thinks it’s at him. He feels his heart drop. </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Then Hyunjin turns on Jisung. Carefully, eyes narrowed like he’s staring down the barrel of a gun (or, better yet, the one shooting it), he says, “You know, you of all people have no right to show up at my door uninvited and start yelling at me about fucking my friends. Which I’m not doing, by the way. So quit fucking embarrassing yourself and go home.”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Jisung looks appropriately shocked. He looks down at his feet, and Seungmin watches as bright pink patterns itself across his cheekbones. “I’ll see you later, then.” His voice is quiet.</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Hyunjin slams the door closed on his face. </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he says to Seungmin immediately, his grimace tinged with embarrassment. “I didn’t- he doesn’t normally just show up like that.”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” Seungmin says. But it’s not, not really.</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>“It’s not,” Hyunjin replies, leaning his weight against the door. He looks abruptly very tired. “So I’m really sorry. I’ll talk to him about that. And… you can stay here tonight, if you want. The sofa pulls out into a bed.”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Seungmin sighs. “Thanks.” He leans against the kitchen counter, pressing his hand into the cool granite countertop and feeling his shoulders, tight with the anxiety of the situation, begin to relax.</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>In the morning, it’s about as awkward as he expects it to be. Hyunjin’s a remarkably gracious host, but he has no food in his cabinets, so he offers to buy Seungmin breakfast on the way to the bus stop when they wake up about an hour past dawn. Seungmin refuses as politely as he can, overwhelmed with what he’s asked of Hyunjin already.</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>As he rounds the corner of the last block to the bus stop, the sun barely over the horizon and hidden by the concrete apartment and office buildings surrounding him, he gets a text.</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Hwang Hyunjin: I promise that’ll never happen again.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>And for the next two months, it doesn’t, but that has more to do with the fact that they don’t meet up again - anywhere, bar or park or apartment - for the rest of the year. They do text, though, occasionally. </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>The next time Seungmin checks Instagram, Jisung has unfollowed him.</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>------</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>At this rate, Seungmin’s feet will be frozen in his Nikes by the time Felix arrives.</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>He’s been waiting at their rendezvous point in the brightly-lit holiday market for the last thirty minutes or so, watching his breath expel in a white cloud in front of him.</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> It’s New Year’s Eve, and the market is alive with sounds and colors. Passersby chatter away, munching on traditional pastries and other street food as they meander under the strings of electric lights and past the multicolored outdoor tents marking each business. It’s dark, just past 6 PM, and a light flurry of snow is falling softly to the ground. It’s not quite cold enough for the snow to stick, the temperature hovering just above freezing (according to his weather app, the last time Seungmin checked). Just warm enough that Seungmin thought sneakers would suffice. </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Seungmin’s teeth chatter. <em>Where are you, Felix?</em></p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Just then, his phone dings in the pocket of his coat, and he reaches in a gloved hand to check it. <em>Come on… </em></p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>No dice. It’s from Hyunjin, not Felix. The taller boy has sent him a gif of a guy from an American TV show Seungmin vaguely recognizes, the actor rolling his eyes at the camera. <em>Shut up,</em> the text says after that. <em>Nobody told you to be a smartass</em></p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Seungmin smiles at his phone, then sends an angel emoji back, typing clumsily through his leather gloves. <em>Are you coming today,</em> he types. <em>Felix wanted to know</em></p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>The text bubble alerts him that Hyunjin is typing, and it doesn’t go away for at least a minute. The end result is much shorter than Seungmin expected, though, when he receives this text: <em>Can’t. Family tradition is new year’s at my aunts</em></p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Seungmin: Oh, cool. Nvm then</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Not thirty seconds later, he hears his name shouted out by a familiar deep baritone. He turns around just as Felix, his hair about two inches longer, constellation of freckles faded with the shock of the winter, swings an arm around Seungmin’s shoulders. He’s grinning. “Damn, I missed you, man! Happy New Year’s!”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Seungmin smiles back. “Missed you, too, dude. Happy New Year’s.”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>“You know, I heard you’ve been hanging out with Hwang Hyunjin,” Felix says, his nose scrunched up with his attempt at a frown. Not even two seconds later, his frown breaks into a sharp, genuine smile, and Seungmin remembers all why he spent so much time with him during the international season.</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>“From who?” Seungmin asks, nonplussed. “Jaemin?”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p> “Tell me everything,” Felix continues, artfully ignoring him. His arm is still swung over Seungmin’s shoulders. “Otherwise, I’ll have to assume the real Seungmin was abducted by aliens.”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Seungmin laughs. “It’s kind of a long story.”</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>Felix shrugs. “So? We’ve got time.” His gaze catches on the tents, and he releases Seungmin shoulders to rummage through his pockets. “But tell me while we get some tteokbokki, though, because I’m fucking starving. Airplane food sucks.” </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>The snow falls softly around them as they trudge through the cold of the market, warming their bellies with spicy rice cakes and piping hot pastries. Seungmin tells him the edited version, the version without the dreams, without Jisung’s suspicions of him, a version where Hyunjin and Jisung are just super close friends. Felix seems to notice the omission, his eyebrows slowly growing higher, but he doesn’t say anything. </p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>“Well,” he says finally. “At least you have us. Jaemin and I, I mean."</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
<p>And he's right.</p>
<p>
  <em></em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. break the chain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The international season starts up again, and a new captain is announced. Practice turns suddenly explosive and Seungmin is forced to return home early.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm so sorry for the mini-hiatus! It was not intentional, but life got in the way. Updates should return to normal from now on.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Seungmin stares himself down in the mirror, taking a long breath. The boy staring back at him frowns, his brow knit, dark hair cut short so it can’t fall into his eyes. The white jersey leaves his arms exposed to the unnecessary blast of air from the vent in the ceiling above his head. He can see hairs raised with cold in the cool reflection of the mirror. His ears are filled with the clatter of the locker room as the national team prepares for its first practice of the season. </p><p>Seungmin sighs. The three months between now and the end of the national season passed a lot more quickly than he expected. He spent his time rotating between his apartment, the gym, and a select few bars and restaurants, where he hung out with Jaemin, Minho, and occasionally Hyunjin or Felix, if the latter was visiting from Australia. </p><p>In that time, he’d somehow forgotten this vague sense of anxiety, the jittery feeling in his chest and legs brought on by the entrance of a new season, new players - and even a new captain.</p><p>The night before, Minho sent characteristically abrupt yet somehow friendly text to last year’s group chat: <em>just got the email- I made the under-23 squad. Make sure you tell me who’s made captain tmrw!! </em></p><p>It’s a somewhat rude awakening to Seungmin, who’d momentarily forgotten about the “aging out” part. In order to be a member of the under-20 squad, you had to be, sort of obviously, under 20 years old (more or less; there were some exceptions). Minho celebrated his 21st birthday last October, making him eligible to try out for the next international age bracket, the under-23 team. He’d made it, which meant he left his spot as captain open. </p><p>A new season meant new players, but also, in this case, a new captain. The boys in the group chat had speculated wildly about who might be selected by the coaching staff: would it be tireless Mingi? amiable yet no nonsense Jaemin? Talented, aggressive Jisung? Strong and silent Jihoon? Or maybe even Hyunjin, who despite his reserved personality might be the best player on the team? </p><p>Seungmin sighs again, and watches as his reflection’s white-clad shoulders rise with the inhale, relax with the exhale. He’s one of the seniors on the team, one of the most experienced players. There’s no reason for him to be nervous.</p><p>“You ready?” </p><p>Seungmin turns; it’s Jaemin, standing in the threshold between the locker room and restrooms, his neon sneakers clashing horribly with the garbage green of the linoleum floor. The boy’s hand brushes the white ceramic of the sink in front of him, and Seungmin sees the flash of a familiar ring, glinting under the harsh lighting. He taps his fingers against the ceramic, then pulls back his hand quickly. He gives Seungmin a faint attempt at a smile. </p><p>It’s like Jaemin is almost vibrating with nerves. Seungmin doesn’t think he’s ever seen his friend so nervous, maybe not even during their final match for the U-20 World Cup last year. But he’s a favorite for captain, so Seungmin’s doesn’t blame him. Jaemin is a natural leader, and he knows how much this position would mean to him.</p><p>Seungmin looks down at his athletic watch and grimaces. It’s 5:04 PM. He’s late.</p><p> “Oh shit, sorry. I lost track of time. Have they…” He trails off seeing the tension in Jaemin’s expression.“What?”</p><p>“Jisung’s being-” Jaemin starts, then abruptly stops himself. He taps the sink again and glances over his shoulder at the locker room, where somehow the roar of their teammates’ chatter has significantly quieted. They must have crept out to the field without Seungmin realizing it, he was so engrossed in his thoughts. Oops.</p><p>“Jisung’s being… what?” Seungmin asks. Unfortunately, he has a pretty good guess. There’s a sizable circle of seniors that might be picked as captain, and somehow Jisung has enough pride to make up for all of them combined.  <em>Hmm, </em> he’d said last night in the chat.  <em>Tight competition. </em> </p><p>It did strike Seungmin as a bit ironic that when one of the younger guys suggested Hyunjin, the quiet boy had sent his first and only text of the night:  <em>why the fuck are you mentioning me?? </em></p><p>“Never mind,” Jaemin says. Seungmin knows he hates drama. “Anyway. We’re heading out on the field.”</p><p>	“I’m coming,” Seungmin replies quickly. He follows the other boy out.</p><p> </p><p>The team this year is made up of sixteen returning members plus ten or so new guys. They assemble themselves in a section of bleachers close to the center of the field, where they wait for the coaches to give their characteristic pre-season speech. Seungmin sits three or four rows up next to Felix, who’s in the middle of introducing himself to a guy Seungmin doesn’t recognize. The bench creaks as Jaemin slides into a seat beside him a few seconds later.</p><p>	“-play for the Sydney Swans, down in New South Wales,” Felix is saying to the boy. He’s leaning forward, his hands lightly resting on his knees.</p><p>“Oh, cool,” the boy replies. He looks to be about as tall as Hyunjin but more muscular, with a sharp jawline, heavy-lidded eyes, and a friendly smile. He makes eye contact with Seungmin and quickly introduces himself as Sunwoo.</p><p>	Felix turns round, eyes wide. “Min! Hi! Sunwoo and I were just talking about our home teams.” His jersey fits a little oddly on him, Seungmin notices, the shoulders stretching in the shoulders as he turns, like it’s a size too small.</p><p>“I play for the KQ Dolphins,” Sunwoo adds. “Uh, in Gwangju.” </p><p>That explains the slight lilt to his voice, not quite satoori but not quite standard dialect, either. </p><p>“Oh, like Mingi,” Jaemin chimes in. “That’s cool. I’m Jaemin, and this is Seungmin.”</p><p>Seungmin gives Sunwoo a quick smile. He’s about to say something else when he hears Coach Lim’s voice, bellowing over the clamor, and quickly faces forward. He feels Jaemin tense beside him.</p><p>As soon as everyone quiets down, the coach gives a quick speech on the new season, reminding them of the FIFA U-20 preliminaries in late summer, guidelines for team members, and the importance of showing up to mandatory practice every day and putting in effort. Seungmin’s heard a variation of this same speech at the beginning of each soccer season since he was about thirteen or so, though, so he knows the drill. The familiar phrases ring in his ears: reminders that it’s gonna be “tough,” that the coach needs absolute, 100% effort, that the first game is in six weeks, two months, always changing but never enough time to prepare. </p><p>By the end of the speech, Jaemin is audibly tapping his foot against the bleachers.</p><p>The coach says with a smile, “Finally, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. The next captain will be…”</p><p>Seungmin doesn’t dare look over to check Jaemin’s expression. All he can think is,  <em>not Jisung, not Jisung, not Jisung… </em></p><p>He looks down as the coach pauses for an excruciating moment, down two levels of bleachers to that closest to the grass. Jisung sits front and center, and Seungmin’s surprised to see the boy tapping his fingers quickly and arrhythmically against the cool white metal beside him, his foot jittering against the grass. A little further down the bench, a few other players between them, is Hyunjin, head turned in profile. </p><p>Seungmin takes a breath. He’s handsome like a heart attack. The late afternoon sun lights up the edges of his face, catching the highlights of his hair and turning them copper. And his  <em>hair. </em> It’s so short, almost shockingly so after so many years of it seeing it brush his neck. It barely reaches the tops of his ears now, shorter than his usual length by at least two inches. And when Hyunjin turns back to face the coach, he shifts, his shirt moving with the movement. His shoulder blades are as sharp as knives like always, outlined despite the thick performance fabric.</p><p>He’s not sitting next to Jisung, Seungmin notices. </p><p>Hyunjin turns his head again, and Seungmin looks quickly away. He feels heat begin to reach across his cheeks. Something whispers in his heart, and he thinks, his chest suddenly aching,  <em>What am I doing? </em></p><p>	Seungmin’s so distracted he almost misses the announcement of the new captain. Felix takes a sharp breath beside him, and he forces himself to tune back in to his coach’s speech.</p><p>“...being said, it’s Na Jaemin,” Coach Lim finishes with a smile. He probably said things before that, but Seungmin wasn’t listening. “Congrats.”</p><p>Seungmin lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.  <em>Thank God. </em></p><p> </p><p>The new U-20 team, officially captained by one Na Jaemin, practices for the next six hours, a little longer than normal because it’s the first one of the season. They run laps around the field for the first twenty minutes, until Seungmin starts to feel the exertion in his chest, his lungs, a little bit in his legs. Then they switch to drills: short run bursts, jumping, skipping, dribbling around cones, and lots of specialized position drills.</p><p>After an hour and a half of position drills and about five hours of practice overall, Jaemin encourages the other defenders - Seungmin, Jihoon, Mingi, plus a few new guys - to take a quick water break right before the coach starts mock plays. Seungmin can feel the sweat trickling down his shoulder blades, and his calves burn. He makes his way over to the bleachers, where he’s left his water bottle. As he walks, feeling the achy soreness spread through his legs, he makes plans to take an ice bath later to mitigate the soreness.</p><p>After he’s retrieved his water bottle, he sits down with a sigh on the nearest bench and takes a long drink. Even though it’s February and just a hop and a skip above freezing, the last several hours of intense practice has left him beyond sweating. He stares out beyond the field, where the sun is just finishing its descent below the horizon. The clear winter sky's alight with colors. It’s like an Impressionist painter took a brush to the sky, broad red and orange strokes fading behind puffy, tinted clouds.  </p><p>Seungmin looks up just as Jaemin appears in front of him, pulling on his black training jacket to fend off the cold.</p><p>“Damn,” Jaemin groans, sitting next to Seungmin with a sigh. “My legs are killing me.”</p><p>Seungmin mutters an exhausted agreement. </p><p>They sit in silence for a minute or two, until Seungmin can hear his friend’s slightly elevated breathing begin to return to normal. He looks out at the pitch, where the offensive and midfield positions are still running their specialized drills. When gaze catches on the midfielders,  he raises his eyebrows. </p><p>“Those new midfielders look like they’re about to die.” Seungmin gestures to the group out by the center spot, where the midfielders are conferring anxiously together. Jisung, the best midfielder and de facto position leader now that Minho’s aged out, is gesturing passionately at one of the multiple red-faced, visibly sweating newbies.</p><p> “Yeah, they look pretty bad,” Jaemin replies, sounding concerned. “Except for… is that Sunwoo?”</p><p>Seungmin looks just past Jisung. The guy from earlier, Sunwoo with the deep tan and the jawline, stands with a soccer ball trapped under one cleat, looking unfazed and unsweaty. </p><p>“Yeah, I think so,” Seungmin replies. “He must work out.” By this he means,  <em>enough to handle his first international team practice. </em> They all worked out; you couldn’t make the team without it. </p><p>“I was watching him earlier, when we took our first break. He’s damn good. Maybe just as good as Jisung.” Jaemin sets his metal water bottle down next to him with a dull clang and leans forward, his hands on his knees.</p><p>“Really?” Seungmin can’t contain his surprise. Despite his mixed feelings for Jisung, he has to admit that it’s high praise.</p><p>“I know,” Jaemin replies, anticipating his question. “A newbie as good as Minho? But I think he might be.”</p><p>“Good,” someone says from behind them.</p><p>Seungmin jumps, his head whipping around. He hears Jaemin let out a startled breath.</p><p>Felix sits on the rise above them, nursing a brightly colored Gatorade. He gives Seungmin a smile.</p><p>“Shit, man, I didn’t realize you were here.” Jaemin has a hand to his heart, eyes widened excessively. He’s easily startled, Seungmin remembers. Minho took the defenders on a very memorable team building exercise, their first year on the team. It was at a haunted house. Needless to say, Minho learned not to try that one again.</p><p>“Sorry.” Felix doesn’t sound very sorry. “I only meant, it might be nice to have someone as good as Jisung. They can, uh, balance each other out.”</p><p>“Let’s just hope Sunwoo isn’t an attacking midfielder, like Jisung,” Jaemin adds with a smirk. “I’m not sure we could handle the tension.” He pauses. “Oh, see, I told you!”</p><p>Seungmin looks out at the pitch just in time to see Sunwoo outmaneuver Jisung. What the taller boy lacks in grace, he makes up for in speed and hardheadedness; Seungmin catches him shoulder checking Renjun hard in an attempt to escape a counter offensive by the established senior midfielders. But then they converge on him - Jisung, Donghyuk, Renjun - and it’s over. 	</p><p>Despite that, Seungmin can’t help but feel a little impressed. </p><p>Felix whistles appreciatively, still staring out at the pitch. Seungmin turns around to look at him. He can’t quite place the look on his friend’s face; it’s somewhere between respect and something else. Felix grabs the edges of his seat, like he’s about to stand up, but then doesn’t.</p><p> <em>“Damn,” </em> Jaemin says slowly, the bench clanging as he takes another drink from his metal water bottle. “How was he not on the team before?”</p><p> <em>That’s a great question. </em> Seungmin’s about to make a guess when Sunwoo suddenly makes eye contact with the group. He blinks, looking confused at the attention, but then smiles and waves. He mouths something that Seungmin doesn’t catch, his gaze just past Seungmin’s shoulder.</p><p>Felix snorts.</p><p>“What did he say?” Jaemin asks, turning around quickly.</p><p>But Felix just shakes his head, taking a long drink from his Gatorade and looking away. “Nothing. He’s just being stupid.”</p><p>Just then, out of the corner of his eye, Seungmin sees one of the offensive players turn around to look at the mash of midfielders, his eyebrows raised. The player brushes his hair back out of his eyes in a familiar gesture, and Seungmin realizes with a shock that it’s Hyunjin, the distance and the new haircut having briefly turned him to a stranger in Seungmin’s brain. Hyunjin calls out something to the other offensive positions, and his group of offensive players stops their drills.</p><p>Hyunjin jogs over to the bleachers. With him facing the defenders, Seungmin gets his first proper look at him. He’s definitely gotten leaner in the last few months, his collarbones sharp against the thick jersey fabric, his cheekbones even sharper than that. </p><p>From behind him, the newbie striker says something, his expression earnest. Hyunjin’s eyes flash, but then he smiles a little and shouts something back with the practiced air of the long-time de facto leader of the offensive team. </p><p>Seungmin looks away abruptly before Hyunjin can catch his eye. He feels his heartbeat pick up, adrenaline rushing through his veins. They’re friends, they’re friends, and yet, he’s suddenly afraid. His brain wars with itself. <em>I hope he doesn’t come over here. I hope he comes over here. </em></p><p>It’s then that Coach Lim’s voice rings out from the sidelines, telling the team to switch to mock plays. Seungmin sees Hyunjin roll his eyes, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and turning back to his group with clear annoyance.</p><p>Felix stands up with a sigh. “Well,” he says with a shrug, “at least this’ll be interesting.”</p><p> </p><p>	Coach ends up making them do a full field pattern, where a full “team” of 11 players of various positions practice dribble exchanges and passes until each player has interacted with the ball at least once. Since the full national team has well over twenty players, he splits them up into several groups at random. Seungmin, Felix, and two new guys form the four defenders of the first group. They’re joined by four midfielders, including Renjun and Jisung, and finally the two forwards, Hyunjin and Jihoon. Their new goalkeeper, a young kid on loan from Gwangju FC, stands nervously between the goalposts, his gloved hands hovering at the ready. </p><p>	Seungmin and Felix, both center-back defenders, stand just outside of the goal box, a few yards between them. The darkening sky is swiftly turning shades of inky purple, and the tall fluorescent lights surrounding the pitch beam angrily down on the team, illuminating them in blotches.</p><p>	Seungmin looks down the field. The rules of this pattern are fairly basic: one of the coaches passes to the defenders on the far end of the field, who pass to the midfielders, who then pass to the forwards, who can finally attempt to score on the fresh-faced goalkeeper.</p><p> A chill wind bristles past, raising the hair on Seungmin’s arms despite the athletics-induced warmth emanating from his core. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Felix shiver. </p><p>	Then Coach Lim kicks him the ball, and everything falls away, like it always does. He dribbles the ball for a few seconds, passing it to Felix just as an overeager newbie midfielder moves like he’s about to steal the ball (like he’s allowed to do). Felix handles the ball for a little, even balancing it on top of his cleat before passing it to one of the other defenders. Just as it reaches the last defender, a right full-back named Taehyun, Sunwoo makes a move to steal the ball. </p><p>Taehyun handles it with grace. He dribbles the ball, capturing it under his cleats and turning his body in a somewhat successful attempt to keep it away from the midfielders.  Eventually, Taehyun sends a desperate long pass to Seungmin through the goalie box. </p><p>	Seungmin captures the ball under his cleat. He’s just outside the goalie box, on the left side of the field. Jisung appears in his field of vision, coming towards him fast as a bullet.</p><p>Someone shouts something, a moderate baritone calling shocked from the other side of the field, but Seungmin doesn’t register the words. They did make Jisung attacking midfielder for a reason- he is  <em>aggressive</em>, more so than most major league players. He’s close, almost too close for comfort. Seungmin tries to twist the ball away, but Jisung outmaneuvers him. They make quick eye contact; Jisung has a strange, difficult-to-place expression on his face. Seungmin twists again, and he thinks he’s in the clear before a tan arm pushes towards him. </p><p>Someone shouts just as Seungmin feels it- sharp and oppressive all at once, just to the left of his Adam’s apple. His head rocks back instinctively and pain explodes across the front of his neck. For one horrible, horrible moment, he can’t breathe. Another moment- he can’t breathe. </p><p>Then he gasps a breath, and his heartbeat catches up with him. He collapses.</p><p>When he registers his surroundings again, moments - is it minutes? - later, he’s on his knees in the grass, fingers clenched into fists and pressed tightly against the dirt. He’s gasping. The world swims in front of him, and it takes him a minute to realize that it’s because his eyes have filled with tears. </p><p>A warm hand clutches his arm, a little too tight to be comfortable. </p><p>“Seungmin?” Jisung says. There’s something wrong with his voice that wasn’t there before- it’s thick, like he has a cold, and his voice rings with unfiltered alarm. “Seungmin, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” </p><p>Coach Lim’s voice, materializing in front of him: “Seungmin, can you hear me? Can you breathe?”</p><p>Seungmin nods, then croaks, “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, then rocks back onto his heels. Hands flutter against his back, like someone’s afraid he’ll fall backwards. He looks around: Coach Lim crouches next to him, his face as stoic as always. Jisung stands off to Seungmin’s left, his eyes red and bright, arms crossed tightly. Felix sits nervously off to his right. The rest of the team is congregated around a stern-looking Jaemin several yards away, glancing over at him and whispering despite Jaemin’s clear efforts to distract them.</p><p>“What happened?” Seungmin asks carefully. The muscles in his throat feel like they’re on fire. It hurts to talk, but he makes himself do so anyway. “Jisung… hit me?”</p><p>Felix, who has one hand on Seungmin’s back, says darkly, “He elbowed you.”</p><p>Oh. Well. </p><p>“Are you having trouble breathing?” Coach Lim asks, his eyes searching Seungmin’s face. When Seungmin nods, he continues, “Then you should see a doctor. As soon as possible, preferably.”</p><p>Felix speaks up from beside him. “You took the bus here, right? Do you know if someone can drive you to the doctor?”</p><p>Seungmin shrugs, then winces, feeling some of his lower neck muscles pull uncomfortably. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a tall, frowning boy - Hyunjin - take Jisung aside. His eyes are dark with something like… Seungmin almost does a double take. Is that…  <em>fury? </em></p><p>Coach Lim frowns, and Seungmin looks back at him attentively. “I think Jihoon drove, maybe a few others. You should definitely have someone take you, though. Don’t take the bus alone.”</p><p>While he talks, Hyunjin and Jisung’s voices grow exponentially louder. By the end of it, they’re loud enough that Seungmin can almost make out what they’re saying, despite the fact that they’ve all but disappeared down the field. Over Coach Lim’s head, Seungmin sees Hyunjin’s faraway figure grasp Jisung’s shoulder tightly. He says something too quiet for Seungmin to hear.</p><p>“I didn’t… just… accident,” Jisung replies passionately, his voice low enough that Seungmin only catches a few words. He must be defending himself.</p><p>There’s a pause. Coach Lim’s frown grows deeper, as if he’s listening. All of a sudden, he stands up, his ample, middle-aged frame blocking the pair from view. His voice booms, “What the hell is going-” </p><p>There’s a dull thud, like a heavy weight hitting the ground. Coach Lim turns around <em>fast.</em> “Hey! That’s enough!” He jogs in Hyunjin and Jisung’s direction, at the perfect angle to obstruct them from Seungmin’s view.</p><p>“Uhhh,” Felix starts, eyes wide. He’s far enough to Seungmin’s right that he can presumably see around the coach. “Did Hyunjin just fucking slam Jisung to the ground, or am I seeing things?”</p><p> <em>“What?”</em> He must have seen it wrong. Seungmin squints over in their direction, one hand pressed against his still-burning throat. He blinks. And… Felix might be right. Somehow.</p><p>Jisung is on the ground, Hyunjin standing with his arms at his sides, his chest rising and falling quickly. Coach Lim stands beside Hyunjin. He has a tight grip on the boy’s arm, and seems to be muttering something to him. After a few seconds, Hyunjin nods, then holds out his hand to Jisung, as if to help him up. His gaze is indiscernible. </p><p>He meets Seungmin’s gaze, and his expression hardens. He turns to the Coach, says something quickly. The Coach nods. </p><p>Hyunjin jogs over. “I heard you needed a ride to the hospital?” He says roughly. “I’m kicked off the field for the night. I can drive you there.”</p><p>Seungmin stands up with a groan. “Sure.” His head is spinning, and it has nothing to do with the injury. He remembers Jisung’s protests, Hyunjin’s angry stare. A strange, almost hopeful suspicion grows in his mind.</p><p> <em>Did he knock over Jisung because of me?</em></p><p>The logical side of Seungmin's brain dismisses the thought almost immediately as he starts to follow Hyunjin off the field, waving goodbye to Felix and Jaemin.</p><p>He couldn't have done it because of the elbow to his throat, the collapse. That would be impossible. Right?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. of ornaments and easiness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hyunjin drives Seungmin to the hospital. Later that night, Seungmin gets an unexpected visitor and makes some startling realizations.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After a quick stop in the locker room to grab their stuff, Seungmin and Hyunjin head out to the outdoor parking lot adjacent to the field. The tall, steel parking lot lights flicker above them, casting a strange glow across the rows and rows of empty spots. </p><p>	There are only five or six cars in a lot meant for at least thirty. Seungmin sees a familiar gray Honda, Jaemin’s beloved Rust Bucket, out in the far corner. An ugly gray-green Hyundai Elantra - Seungmin knows it’s an Elantra because his sister is obsessed with them - sits near the entrance to the lot, beat up like it’s been through at least four fender benders. Seungmin faintly recognizes it as Donghyuk’s car; his stories about it are the stuff of legends. </p><p>	The two boys keep walking, past the Rust Bucket, past the Elantra, past two almost identical grey sedans. There are only two remaining cars in the lot, one of which is a big white Ssangyong SUV covered in college radio stickers. Right next to it is, surprisingly, a black BMW. It’s the only car in the lot that doesn’t look like it’s at least seven or eight years old, and Seungmin immediately assumes that it belongs to Coach Lim.</p><p>That makes the Ssangyong Hyunjin’s car. But college radio stickers? A strange choice for someone who’s never been to college.</p><p>Seungmin’s about to ask about the stickers when Hyunjin pulls his keys from his pocket. The BMW’s lights flicker on, and it beeps tinnily, the headlights suddenly illuminating a section of the lot. </p><p>Seungmin blinks. He blinks again. <em>Okay, then.</em></p><p> “Uh… Nice car.”</p><p>Hyunjin shrugs. “Yeah. It’s a bitch to maintain, though.” He grabs the handle of the driver’s side door, then pulls it open with about three times as much force than is probably necessary. He settles in the driver’s seat, then looks up at Seungmin, his dark eyes impenetrable. </p><p>There’s a pause.</p><p>Hyunjin raises his eyebrows. “Are you getting in or not?” </p><p>With a jolt, Seungmin realizes that he’s been staring. “Oh. Yeah.” He walks around to the passenger’s side. Once he slides into the seat, he’s hit with the faint scent of Hyunjin’s cologne: sandalwood or something similar, strong and earthy and masculine. He feels it in his sinuses, heady and cloying. The car is filled with the subtle tang of it.</p><p>The inside of the car is spare and clean, nothing like the Rust Bucket’s mess of an interior. No food wrappers, no random phone cords, no crumbs buried in the cracks between the seats. There’s a string of rosewood beads hanging from the rearview mirror, but it’s the only sign that the car’s being used regularly. </p><p>Hyunjin turns his keys in the ignition and the car roars to life, the dashboard alight. </p><p>Seungmin’s neck, still aching from its surprise encounter with the sharp end of Jisung’s elbow, begins to burn again. He grimaces.</p><p>“You good?” Hyunjin asks, one hand on the gear shift. He leans over the center console, his eyebrows furrowed. </p><p>“Yeah.” Seungmin rubs at his neck. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for driving me.”</p><p>“Of course,” Hyunjin replies, his eyes in the rearview mirror as he backs out of the parking space. The beads clack together as the car turns. “It’s the least I can do.” He glances at Seungmin quickly. “Does it matter which hospital we go to?”</p><p>Seungmin gives him directions to his primary care physician’s office. They sit in silence for a while, the only sound the soft rumbling of the engine and the occasional ticking of the turn signal. The roads are bright with fluorescent street lights, neon red tail lights, and blinking signs. The car’s air conditioning cools the sticky sweat from practice to the skin of his neck, his arms, his back. </p><p>“Did you buy the car yourself?” Seungmin asks finally, when he starts to see familiar road signs. They must be about five to ten minutes away from the office. </p><p>Hyunjin laughs hollowly. “No. Definitely not. It was an eighteenth birthday gift.”</p><p>“From who?”</p><p>“My mom.” </p><p>There’s an undercurrent there that Seungmin doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t push it. All he says is, “That’s cool,” before they lapse into silence once again.</p><p>Seungmin’s talked about his family with Hyunjin before. The other boy knows that he lived with his aunt and uncle after he turned twelve, that he has a sister and parents that he reluctantly loves, that his family calls him on every major holiday and tells him, not in so many words, that they wish he would get a “real job.” </p><p>What Seungmin knows about Hyunjin’s family, on the other hand, he’s exclusively heard from Jaemin. All that knowledge amounts to this: Hyunjin was raised by his grandmother. </p><p>That’s it. That’s all he knows. He’s never heard Hyunjin mention a grandfather, or siblings, or even a father. Sometimes he’ll mention an aunt. And if he mentions his mom, like now, it’s always with that same tone, the one Seungmin doesn’t understand. With that tone, whether he does it consciously or not, Seungmin feels like Hyunjin draws a metaphorical line in the sand, a sort of “do not cross” line on the subject of his family. </p><p>Whatever family means to the other boy, it’s too far away for him to reach yet. But that doesn’t stop him from being incredibly curious. </p><p> </p><p>Hyunjin pulls into a parking space and turns off the engine with a swift movement. The tall steel of the hospital looms across the parking lot, lights scattered among the primarily dark windows. It’s dark outside, so dark.</p><p>“Hey, Seungmin?” Hyunjin says, while Seungmin’s surveying the parking lot with unease.<br/>
Seungmin looks over at him. The other boy rests his hands on the wheel, staring forward at the hospital through the dark of the night and the shiny glass of the windshield. His shoulders are wound up tight.</p><p>“Uh, yeah?” Seungmin swallows.</p><p>Hyunjin bites his lip. He glances over at Seungmin, and his gaze is complicated. </p><p>Seungmin can never tell what he’s thinking. For a half-second, he even wishes Hyunjin was more like Jaemin or even Minho, who for better or worse tend to wear their hearts on their sleeves.</p><p>The silence grows. For a second, Seungmin thinks Hyunjin’s going to say something else, something longer. But all he says is, “I’m sorry Jisung hurt you.”</p><p>There’s a small pause. Seungmin uses it to gather his courage.</p><p>“Is that why you pushed him?” He finally asks. “Because of me?” He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, feel it pounding like a quick drum in his chest. The muscles in his throat are burning again, compounding his stress. For a horrible, horrible moment, he stares into those dark eyes and thinks he’s made a mistake.</p><p>But then, surprisingly, Hyunjin pinkens. He clears his throat. “Oh, um… You should probably go inside, I bet the office is closing soon.” There’s a wholly unfamiliar look on his face, one almost veering towards embarrassed. He brushes his hair back with one hand, even though it’s far from falling in his face anymore. </p><p>Seungmin suddenly remembers that day on the bus, the heavy weight of Hyunjin’s head and the tentative lilt to his voice. <em>I forgot he can be like this… Also, I’ll take that as a yes.</em></p><p>He doesn’t push it, but he can’t stop a small smile from spreading across his face. He turns away, partially to open the car door and step into the cool night air but also to hide his smile. </p><p>“Uh, I’ll be right back,” Seungmin says somewhat awkwardly, one hand resting on the top of the passenger side door. “Thirty minutes, maybe?”</p><p>“Sure,” Hyunjin replies. He’s already reached for his phone. </p><p>Seungmin jogs towards the hospital, his skin prickling with the cold brush of the last remnants of winter. </p><p> </p><p>After fifteen minutes in the sparsely furnished waiting room, a nurse sees him into an examination room. There, his balding, almost grandfatherly primary care physician assures him after a short examination that no real damage has been done. Thankfully, Jisung didn’t break any blood vessels or puncture anything important when he made contact with Seungmin’s neck. The blow just missed his trachea. However, the doctor recommends that he sit out from practice for two or three days and gives him a prescription to decrease pain and swelling. </p><p>After Seungmin returns to the car, Hyunjin drives him home, a short ten minutes from the town center where the hospital is located. When they arrive, they exchange quick goodbyes. Seungmin heads quickly up the stairs of his apartment building, eager to get to painkillers, some dinner, and a couple hours of Netflix before he heads off to sleep.</p><p> </p><p>A few hours later, when the cold of the evening has turned in the barest of snow flurries, he’s sorting - well, mostly shivering and grumbling, but also sorting - his recycling in the bins just outside of his apartment when he hears a cough. Seungmin’s about to write it off as one of the late-night workers in the complex when someone swears, quietly enough that Seungmin can’t recognize the exact words. But he does recognize the voice- an even baritone, vowels a little clipped with annoyance. </p><p>Seungmin turns around, feeling his eyes widen even as his mind starts whirling. He still has an empty milk carton in one hand, but he’s all but ignoring it in his shock. </p><p>There, barely fifteen feet away, sitting in his thin jersey on one of the benches just outside the apartment, is Hyunjin. He’s turned away towards the curb, so Seungmin can’t see his face. </p><p>Seungmin hurries up to him, unable to keep the mild alarm from his voice.“What are you doing out here?” </p><p>Hyunjin looks up with a start, his eyes widening. “Just thinking,” he says quickly. He takes out his phone from his pocket. Seungmin notices his hands are shaking, just enough to be noticeable. They’re also nearly blue with cold. There’s snow caught in his hair, tiny flakes that contrast sharply with the dark of his hair. </p><p>Hyunjin presses the home button on his phone, presumably to check the time. Seungmin catches a flash of a lock screen, a photo of a woman with grey hair cradling a small child, and the time, 11:03 PM. But before he can make out any more details, the other boy presses the button again, sending the screen into darkness. He fumbles putting his phone away, his hands clearly numb. </p><p>Seungmin’s heart breaks a little. <em>Why are you still here?</em> He wants to ask, but out of respect for Hyunjin’s privacy he doesn’t pry further. Hyunjin is normally - firm, for lack of a better word, but he seems a little less so now, less put together than he normally is.  </p><p>“You look, uh, cold,” Seungmin confesses. His fingers have already grown partially numb, wrapped around the carton of milk he was too distracted to dispose of yet. He can’t imagine how Hyunjin managed to spend longer than fifteen minutes out here. He must have killer compartmentalization abilities.</p><p>Hyunjin looks up at him again and grimaces. For the second time today, his cheeks pinken a little. “Sorry, this must be weird for you. I guess I just lost track of time.” A soft wind brushes the edge of his training jacket off his shoulder, revealing a small section of skin. </p><p>“No, it’s fine,” Seungmin replies automatically. “Don’t worry about it.” He pauses. “Do you not want to…” He starts, before he decides the better of it. <em>Do you not want to go home or something?</em></p><p>Hyunjin’s gaze searches his face, and the answer is there without Seungmin having to finish his question. </p><p>But of course. He has no idea at what stage Jisung and Hyunjin’s relationship is these days (or was, before the latter pushed Jisung). Jisung might very well be at home. And they’re clearly not on very good terms right now.</p><p>Seungmin takes a breath. “Hey, uh, do you want to come inside for a bit, then? I have soda and stuff if you want something to drink.”</p><p>Hyunjin pauses. His eyes flicker from Seungmin’s face and into the empty street. A snowflake falls lazily across his field of vision, coming to rest gently on the boy’s eyelashes. They’re long, Seungmin notices, long and dark, fluttering slightly with the weight of exhaustion. </p><p>“I’d like that, actually,” Hyunjin says finally. He smiles. It’s his true smile, inviting and amiable, seen so rarely that Seungmin feels his heart flop around in his chest. </p><p>“Cool, I just have to get rid of this.” Seungmin raises the milk carton awkwardly. “You can follow me.”	</p><p> </p><p>The elevator in Seungmin’s building is out of service, so they take the many, many flights of stairs up to the fifth floor, where Seungmin resides. By the end of it, Seungmin’s calves are burning again. It’s something that wouldn’t even raise his heart rate in the mornings, now rendered difficult after hours of soccer. </p><p>Hyunjin stops walking once they reach the top of the stairs, leaning against the railing ever so slightly. He grimaces, pain evident in his expression. But when he speaks, his tone is light. “Fuck, my legs <em>hurt.”</em></p><p>“You’re telling <em>me</em>,” Seungmin says, leaning his back against the railing as he waits to catch his breath. “If my landlord doesn’t fix the elevator soon I’m fucking suing.” </p><p>Hyunjin smirks, then comments, “You know, the elevator in my building broke down last spring. They took until November to fix it.” He reaches up to brush back his hair then quickly pulls his hand back down, as if suddenly remembering its change in length. </p><p>“It was, and I’m not even kidding, the worst soccer season of my life,” he continues. </p><p>Seungmin makes a face. “Ugh, great. That’s something to look forward to, I guess.”</p><p>Hyunjin gives him a wry look. “It’s a perk of being a professional athlete,” he says ironically. “They don’t pay us little guys shit, so we always get the shittiest apartments.” He gestures towards the door of the stairwell, releasing his hold on the railing. “After you.”</p><p>“Thanks.” Seungmin turns the knob, pushing the heavy door open with the side of his forearm. </p><p>They make their way down the hallway, the concrete floors echoing under their feet. It’s not that quiet, though, because the walls are thin. He can hear a baby crying as they pass the broken elevator. Closer to his apartment, the faded, vague voice of a woman floats out into the hallway. </p><p>Seungmin pauses in front of his apartment, number 511. He fishes his key out from his pocket, then fumbles to get the corrugated metal into the lock. The lock clicks, and the door swings open.</p><p>“I’m sorry it’s such a mess,” Seungmin says hastily. “I wasn’t, uh, expecting anyone.” </p><p>Hyunjin shakes his head, as if to say, <em>it’s fine.</em> </p><p>Seungmin looks out at his apartment in front of him the way you only do when you have guests over, trying to see it the way Hyunjin might. </p><p>Seungmin’s parents were solidly middle class growing up. His childhood home was littered with books stacked on every available surface, overflowing from too-full oak bookshelves that leaned dangerously away from the walls and bowed under the weight of fifteen, twenty, thirty years of ancient law textbooks. CDs cluttered the coffee table, plastic cups were left forgotten on side tables, coffee stains littered the fabric couch. The white shag rug in the family room had a memorably odd orange stain from when toddler Seungmin accidentally spilled Fanta soda all over. Subpar artwork made by Seungmin and his sister were left pinned for years to a refrigerator overflowing with magnets advertising sundry fast-food restaurants. There always seemed to be snack crumbs on the kitchen table, no matter how much his mother tried to clean it.</p><p>And then, when Seungmin was ten, they visited his dad’s college buddy, a fellow government major that had taken his passion for law and thrust it in the way of well-paying politics instead of meager academia. They lived in the Gangnam sector. Seungmin still remembers being amazed at how spare it was. There were no books littered on coffee tables, not even a bookshelf, just a single floating shelf hammered to the wall above the TV, displaying books in English and photobooks of endangered wildlife and a boring-looking book on the history of Venetian art. With the extra space, they’d decided on a glass armoire that displayed two-hundred-year-old plates. They had an unscratched flat-screen TV, too, and shiny hardwood floors and shiny wood cabinets. </p><p>When Seungmin asked, his mother explained, not in so many words, that they hid all their clutter in ornamental woven baskets, in European side tables and under spotless leather couches. That was what money did: it gave you the chance to hide all the clutter, the parts of yourself that were messy and funny and personable and imperfect. </p><p>Seungmin remembers that realization when he was ten, surrounded by glass and plates and oak older than him and his mother’s ages combined, as he looks out at his own apartment. He doesn’t read much, so there are no books, but it’s pretty much exactly like the home he grew up in, only smaller and dirtier. Ramen packets peek out from the kitchen counter, so cluttered with instant meals and random fruit that it’s almost impossible to see the granite countertop below it. The off-white couch, originally from an elderly couple selling on eBay, sits rickety and bowed in front of the scratched TV. The kitchen table sits in the middle, a small rectangle with two chairs. </p><p>It’s clear in retrospect: Hyunjin’s apartment had no visible clutter at all, a near impossibility for a college-age boy living completely alone. But compounded with the BMW and the expensive shoes, it seems clear that he comes from money. Seungmin realizes that Hyunjin must hide his clutter, all the messy things that average people tend to leave out for others to find, much like that politician’s family in Gangnam all those years ago. That is, hide it in artfully chosen compartments, in beautifully-carved drawers and under other, bigger things, like baskets. Or that complicated look of his. Or alcoholism.</p><p>Seungmin wonders who taught him to do so. He wonders what Hyunjin thinks of him, a boy without those barriers. He swallows.</p><p>Seungmin turns to Hyunjin with a faint smile. “Do you want anything to drink, then?”</p><p>Hyunjin smiles back, and it’s as genuine as the CDs on the coffee table, as the bowing shelves and the books Seungmin’s parents loved so much covering every available surface. “Sure.”</p><p>Seungmin’s heart catches. “Cool. I’ll grab something from the fridge, then.” </p><p>They talk for the next hour or so, and then they say goodbye, and it feels - not quite easy; there's always that strange tension between them, the one that makes Seungmin's heart jump like a beached fish - but as easy as Seungmin could have ever hoped, exchanging jokes over the table as the cool February night fades.</p><p>And Seungmin think about this as he watches from his window as Hyunjin’s car carefully exits the parking lot and disappears down the street:</p><p>It’s not like those family friends in Gangnam were <em>hiding</em> their clutter, after all; it was there, taking up space, like the books and the CDs and the plastic cups. It just took longer to find it. You had to be more careful with it, had to ask the right questions, be delicate to make sure nothing broke in the process of discovering it behind heavy glass or in vintage compartments. And when you did, you always felt like this family, this person, with their delicate ties and careful compartmentalization, had measured you in the balance and found you <em>safe</em>, safe enough to be trusted with the things that made them strange and complicated and human. </p><p> </p><p>That night, Seungmin lies awake for an hour or more, staring at the ceiling with a strange feeling in his chest. Finally, when the clock strikes one, he jumps out of bed.</p><p>When he calls, she picks up immediately, the way he knew she would. </p><p>“Hey,” he says quietly. “Do you have a minute?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. a glass house</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Miroh has its first practice of the season. Seungmin meets up with someone afterward, but is interrupted by a text that might change his relationships forever.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: some could interpret a part of this chapter as implying an eating disorder. There's a mention of a very thin character and the fact that they aren't eating their food.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The last weeks of February pass by like a blur. Seungmin takes a few days off after his injury, sitting at the sidelines and watching the others play. After that, though, the days run into each other like watercolor paints. He spends his days icing his legs, texting his friends, and of course practicing, practicing five or six hours a day, four to six days a week. It’s easy to forget what day of the week it is at this point in the season: with the FIFA preliminaries not until June at the earliest and with the national season not starting until the first week of March, he’s doing nothing but eat, sleep, and practice. Like every year before this, Seungmin becomes familiar with the aching, burning sensation of exhausted muscle tissue. </p><p>Jaemin adapts quickly to his new position. He’s more easygoing than snappish, cutting Minho, who’d freeze your blood with a glare if you messed up badly enough. But his paradoxical combination of extreme dislike for gossip and extroverted, dramatic amiability earns him the respect of the entire team within the first few days of practice, as far as Seungmin can tell. Jaemin will sit and talk with the newbies about plays and girlfriends and the best bars in Itaewon for hours, but will turn on a dime the moment they start talking trash about their teammates. </p><p>In fact, Seungmin has a sneaking suspicion that it’s that very respect for Jaemin that keeps Jisung from confronting Seungmin again. After the “accident” - whether it was an accident or not is up for debate - Jisung more or less leaves Seungmin alone. They don’t talk anymore, for any reason. Whenever Seungmin walks up to a group of chatting teammates, Jisung finds a reason to go somewhere else. And whenever they make eye contact, Jisung’s expression always fades into something strange and distant. </p><p>The only benefit to Seungmin’s accident is that whatever happened between Hyunjin and Jisung afterward, it seems to hold lasting power in a way completely unlike their other arguments he’s bore witness to before. Hyunjin starts hanging out with Jaemin and Seungmin more, going so far as to invite them over to his apartment for pizza one night. He even sends messages into their chatroom sometimes, links to sports articles and short, encouraging texts after particularly grueling practices when he’s normally so silent.</p><p>Seungmin still catches those <em>looks,</em> shot between them when they think no one is looking- that hungry look in Jisung’s eye, glinting in the fading light of the evening as the team walks out to their cars and bus stops, Hyunjin and Jisung noticeably hanging behind. Hyunjin biting his lip, eyes narrowed, a familiar set to his shoulders. A shared glance, a sick feeling in Seungmin’s stomach. </p><p>But, at the same time, he can’t help but notice there’s something <em>weird</em> and off-balance about it, so much so that even Seungmin can see it in the off-chance he catches them looking at each other. Whatever Hyunjin and Jisung mean to each other, it seems to be corroding, like a copper statue turning ugly green with the salt and slapping waves of the unrelenting ocean. It’s less like Hyunjin’s starving and Jisung’s food, like Jisung’s dying of thirst and Hyunjin’s water. It’s more like they’re curious, like something’s broken between them and they’re not quite sure where to step.</p><p>But what does Seungmin know, really? He certainly thinks about them, more like a masochist than a voyeur. But ultimately, it isn’t his relationship. When he catches his eyes following Hyunjin down the pitch, or that strange, bubbly feeling in his chest, the thought lingers in his brain: <em>What the hell am I doing?</em></p><p>He still has those dreams, of the bed and the dawn and the boy, and sometimes he wakes up from them tasting salt, his heart aching. The dreams plant a disconnected, heavy feeling in his gut, one that stays for hours after he’s woken up. </p><p>Lately, his brain starts to give the boy a face, a face and other things, a name that whispers hopefully in the back of his brain, but he tries not to acknowledge it during his waking hours. All he wants is… he doesn’t know what he wants. He doesn't know what he wants.</p><p>Whenever he thinks that, his brain murmurs helpfully that he knows it’s a lie. The truth is, he knows exactly what he wants.</p><p> </p><p>On March first, Seungmin wakes up before dawn, the sound of the sharp spring wind cracking against the window panes of his tiny bedroom window. It’s a Wednesday, but it feels like a Monday, and he hasn’t dreamed. Or if he did, he doesn’t remember it.</p><p>He gets dressed quickly, the chill of the early morning settling in his bones. It takes him a few minutes to find his gray-green Miroh training jersey. When he does, it’s buried under half a year of regular workout clothes, deep in the recesses of his soccer drawer. The fabric is comfortingly rough, the result of too many washes with liquid detergent. </p><p>Before he grabs a quick breakfast from the fridge, he checks his phone notifications. <em>1 message from Kim Dahyun, 1 message from Hwang Hyunjin, 5 messages to Miroh Boyz.</em>  It’s 5:02 AM, too early to even think. His thumb lingers over Dahyun’s icon for a few moments, considering, but then decides against it. I’ll talk to her later.</p><p>He clicks on his chatroom with Hyunjin instead. Like always, his heartbeat picks up right before he clicks the icon. </p><p>
  <em>Hyunjin: You’re up for day one, right? Good luck this season</em>
</p><p>Seungmin smiles despite himself. He texts back, <em>Yeah. Good luck to you too, not that you need it</em></p><p>Hyunjin sends back a gif of a man shrugging. <em>They don’t call us the tigers for nothing,</em> he replies. <em>See you this weekend, right?</em></p><p>Yeah. Seungmin clicks the power button in his phone, then grabs a protein shake from the fridge. He pockets his apartment keys and his phone.</p><p>Outside, the wind whirls against the windows, high-pitched and reedy. Seungmin listens as the windowpanes groan with the effort. Every spring, he wonders absently if this is the year they break.</p><p>Seungmin’s phone buzzes. He checks the home screen: another ten texts to the Miroh group chat, as well as an additional five to the U-20 chat in the last ten minutes.  He doesn’t need to check either to know what they’re saying. He’d bet money on it just being the younger ones complaining about the early morning wake up. After all, it’s March first, the first day of the national season for most professional teams in the Korean major league. National team practices start early, usually around 6 AM.  By the end of practice, the sun’s squarely in the middle of the sky, 10 or 11 in the morning.</p><p> It’ll be his third year on the team. His third year of early mornings, of double practice days and legs so tired they feel like they’re going to collapse. His third year of living the dream he’s been dreaming since that fateful day when he was three, watching Ahn Junghwan perform what still feels like magic on that grainy early 2000s television.</p><p>Seungmin takes a long breath, slipping on his old black Puma Ones and reaching for the doorknob. <em>Well, here goes.</em></p><p> </p><p>When he arrives at the Miroh team field thirty minutes later, most of his teammates are already clustered around the bleachers, talking amongst themselves as they wait for the coaches to arrive. He spots one or two new faces, but recognizes everyone else. Jeongin and Kai and some of the other younger kids are clustered around the water station, their lips barely moving.</p><p>Seungmin's gaze catches Jeongin yawn widely. One of the other boys laughs at him.</p><p>Jeongin looks over to the bleachers, meeting Seungmin's eyes. He waves, the corners of his lips turned up with that boxy, near-constant smile of his. </p><p>Seungmin waves back, but doesn't move to join them.</p><p>Once a few minutes have passed, he notices Chris, the team captain, standing alone at the side of the pitch, handling the ball with ease. He jogs over. </p><p>“Hey, what's up?” Seungmin greets him with a small smile. </p><p>Chris shrugs. He pauses, catching the soccer ball on top of a cleat and sending it flying up into his waiting arms. "You know, the usual. I heard you got injured a while ago, you good?"  </p><p>Seungmin grimaces. "Oh, uh, it's fine now, it wasn't anything big. Did Coach tell you what we're doing today?"</p><p>"Nope. There's no way we'll get to mock plays, though, not with the new guys.” He checks his watch absently, and his eyes widen. “Actually, Coach should be here any minute. I'm going to bring everyone together.” He claps loudly, and the chatter immediately silences. Seungmin takes a few steps back, back into the small crowd.</p><p>Chris waits a moment before he speaks. “For everyone who doesn’t know me, I’m Chris Bang, and I’m your team captain. Coach Jeong will be do the formal introductions, but since he'll be here soon, why don’t we start warming up?” From his firm tone, it’s clear that it’s less of a suggestion than a politely phrased order. </p><p>When no one objects, Chris smiles. “Cool. I know this’ll be a great year.”</p><p> </p><p>Practice lasts until 10:30, a good fifteen to twenty minutes longer than Seungmin expected. The coaches say their goodbyes, then the team, sweaty and exhausted, makes their way to the locker room. Most of Miroh uses the locker room showers after practice, rather than waiting to wash up until they get home. </p><p> About little while later, Seungmin emerges from his shower partition fully dressed. After he steps out into the main area, he starts stuffing his wet towel and sweaty clothes in his soccer bag. He’s almost done when he hears Jeongin call his name.</p><p>	“Hey, Min!”</p><p>	Seungmin zips his bag up in a swift movement. He stands up from a crouch, his street shoes squeaking against the wet tile. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Me and some of the guys are gonna go to that restaurant on the corner and get some lunch. Do you want to come with us?” Jeongin asks, adjusting his soccer bag on his shoulder as he smiles. “We can order black bean noodles or something.”</p><p>Seungmin grimaces. “Oh, I wish I could, but I’m already meeting someone for lunch.” Black bean noodles sound really good to him right about now, but he really had promised to meet someone. </p><p>“Damn, that's too bad. Who are you meeting?” It’s Chris, his voice floating from behind him. His Australian accent turns short vowels into diphthongs and occasionally adds emphasis on syllables where it wouldn’t otherwise exist.</p><p>Seungmin turns around. Miroh’s team captain stands fully dressed in front of a now-open shower curtain. The edges of his ripped jeans drag slightly against the wet floor. His close-cut hair is still damp, water droplets snaking down his temples and past the long lines of his white throat. </p><p>He looks at Seungmin curiously. His eyes are a little wide, like he’s surprised. “Is it a girl?”</p><p>Seungmin shakes his head. “Not in the way you’re thinking.” </p><p>Chris nods. “Right, of course.” </p><p>Something in Seungmin’s heart trips at the phrasing, but he shakes it off quickly. The boys of the team are always talking about girls, ones they’ve slept with recently or ones they want to fuck, which girl on x national team or y university team or z cheerleading squad has the prettiest face or the hottest body. Chris never participates in the discussions. Neither does Seungmin, obviously. Hence Chris’s lack of surprise. </p><p>Seungmin’s rarely the only odd man out for those conversations. For that, he’s eternally grateful to the older boy. But he also knows that Chris does it for a very different reason that he does. After all, Chris, barely twenty-three, has a fiancee back in Australia that he’s always posting about on Instagram, Josie or Jamie or something like that. His captions about her leak heartache all over. They make Seungmin think of his dream of the boy and want; captions like <em>This one’s mine :)</em> and once, memorably, <em>She’ll always be my home, no matter how far apart we are.</em> </p><p>Before the other boys can say anything else, his phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pants pocket, glancing down at the bright blue screen. It's 11:13 AM, almost a half an hour later than when he thought he would leave. </p><p>
  <em>Dahyun: you coming or not??</em>
</p><p>Seungmin takes a sharp breath. “Oh, shit."</p><p> </p><p>A quick bus ride later, Seungmin arrives at a large, metal and wood-planed restaurant. It's packed with patrons, and the waiter has to weave through what feels like twenty tables before they get to the back, where a young woman sits staring at her phone, a plate of pancakes sitting untouched in front of her. </p><p>“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Seungmin apologizes. He sets his bag down next to the empty seat. </p><p>“I can’t believe I wasted an hour of sleep just to wait for you,” Dahyun says, by way of greeting. She shuts off her phone, stuffing it in a worn leather purse hanging off her shoulder. When she meets his eyes a second later, though, she’s smiling.</p><p>Seungmin takes a relieved breath. He pulls up a chair and tries to keep from rolling his eyes at her reply. “Hey, no one told you to become a night shift nurse.” Dahyun works the night shift at a local inpatient facility for recovering addicts. She loves to complain about it, nearly as much as he suspects he loves it. He settles into the chair, feeling the sharp wooden edges of the seat poke into his back uncomfortably. </p><p> He appraises his older sister with a long look. He hasn’t seen Dahyun for the better part of a year. His first impression is that she looks <em>tired,</em> her eyes drawn with exhaustion, shoulders uncharacteristically slumped over. An old, oversized college sweatshirt hangs off her thin frame. A thin, bony wrist peeks out from her sleeve, small enough that his heart skips.</p><p>Seungmin tries not to visibly frown. He makes eye contact with Dahyun, and her smile fades. She’s always been perceptive. </p><p>“It’s fine, Min,” she says. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.” She slides her plate towards him, a full stack of blueberry pancakes that upon inspection have grown almost too cold to eat. “Apparently, I have eyes bigger than my stomach. Do you want some?”</p><p>Seungmin hesitates. “Uh…” His stomach rumbles loudly, and Dahyun raises her eyebrows. Still, he doesn’t grab the plate.</p><p>“Hey, don’t make me waste food.” She’s using her big sister voice, the one for when she’s trying to make him do something. She blinks narrowly at him. “Take it.”</p><p>Seungmin purses his lips.“Fine.” He pulls the plate onto his placemat. He takes a large bite of pancake and sighs happily. “<em>Goddamn,</em> that’s good.”</p><p>“Best pancakes in town, I hear,” Dahyun replies. “Anyway. Did you know Hye-joon is getting married?”</p><p>His least favorite part of getting together with his sister: hearing about all her friends' lives. “Who?” He asks absentmindedly, cutting off another slab of pancake. His phone buzzes, and he reaches for his pocket to check it.</p><p>It’s from Hyunjin. He reads the text, rereads it, then reads it for a third time out of sheer disbelief. <em>What??</em> he sends back. As he does, his stomach drops. The words of the text catch in his throat, in the gallows of his heart. </p><p>Dahyun doesn’t seem to notice his change in mood at first. Seungmin’s not looking at her, just at the phone, but her tone stays the same- annoyed, amiable and exhausted all at once. “Hye-joon was our neighbor growing up. The veterinarian, remember? She was in my class in school.”</p><p>Seungmin makes a sound he hopes comes over as comprehension. He doesn’t take his eyes off his phone. His head spins. His phone blares brightly at him from under the table. <em>there must be a mistake.</em></p><p> “Hey, are you okay?” Dahyun’s voice has changed. “You look like you're having a panic attack.”</p><p>Seungmin purses his lips. He makes eye contact with his sister. “Uh… I'm fine. Yeah.” He glances back at his phone. He texts Hyunjin, <em>What is this??</em></p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hyunjin: You have eyes<br/>
Hyunjin: that’s her, right?</em>
</p><p>Seungmin rubs the bridge of his nose with his hand. He’s vaguely aware of Dahyun staring at him, but he ignores her. He swallows, scrolls through the video to the end. <em>Maybe,</em> he sends back, feeling his heart sink even further. <em>I think so.</em></p><p>
  <em>Hyunjin: fucking shit<br/>
Hyunjin: we have to tell him. now. are you available?</em>
</p><p>“Dahyun…” Seungmin starts. He looks up.</p><p>He’s surprised at the look on her face. He can’t quite place it; it’s somewhere between worry and pity, the usual sisterly annoyance gone. She adjusts her sweater on her small frame; he sees a flash of a collarbone, bony and poking.</p><p>“We’ll find another time,” Dahyun says, anticipating his words before he says them. “Go. Whatever’s going on, I’m sure it’s important.”</p><p>Seungmin feels wretched. That’s what they said last time, and they didn’t see each other for nine months. “I can’t leave you here,” he protests. “Not like this. Not when we haven’t seen each other in fucking forever.”</p><p>“Tell me about your alcoholic friend sometime later, then,” Dahyun suggests. “Substance Abuse Mom is always open for questions.” Her eyes don’t quite hold his, though, and he knows why: their schedules align about once in a blue moon. It might not be another month or more before they can meet up again. </p><p>Seungmin gives her a look. “You know Mom and Dad hate it when you call yourself that.” He reaches for his soccer bag, sitting halfway under the table, the zipper slightly open and revealing a swath of neon green clothing.</p><p>The reason why he called her originally, halfway in the middle of her night shift and probably scaring her half to death, was for her advice on that. If anyone could tell him about… Hyunjin’s problem, it would be his sister, who tends to heroin addicts and four-time pledges to Alcoholics Anonymous fourteen hours a night. And besides, he missed her. He still misses her. They might not always see eye to eye, especially on his career choices, but they’re siblings. They spent his formative years, the first twelve years of his life, under the same roof, exchanging both jokes and angry rejoinders alike. </p><p>“Thank you,” Seungmin says finally. He meets his sister’s eyes. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”</p><p>Dahyun smiles. She tucks a lock of hair behind one ear, resting her elbow on the table. “You owe me lunch, buddy. Don’t you forget it.” </p><p>“Fine, whatever.” Seungmin grabs his bag, swings it over his shoulder. “And, uh, if you don’t eat more, though, I might tell Mom. You look, uh...” He trails off for a moment, unsure of how to put it. He settles on "not great."</p><p>“Hey, you try eating full meals on a sixteen-hour nursing shift," Dahyun protests. "They barely give me time to breathe.” She seems to realize how serious he is, though, because she suddenly changes tack. “Look, I promise. You worry too much, though. Honestly.”</p><p>Seungmin waves, giving her an apologetic grimace. The roar of the cafe washes over him. “I’ll guess I’ll see you later, then?”</p><p>“See you,” she echoes. “Hopefully sooner than next December.”</p><p>When he gets to the bus stop, he opens the text again, pulls up the video. He rummages in his bag for his headphones, turns up the volume to full blast on his phone. He clicks play. His heart is pounding. All he can think is, <em>Maybe we missed something. It has to be a misunderstanding.</em></p><p>The video starts blurrily. In the background, he can hear breathing, heavy and short. The phone’s pointed at the ground, and Seungmin sees a wood floor, spinning in and out of focus. Hyunjin’s voice, whispering a curse in a tone a lot like shocked wonder: “What the motherfuck…”</p><p>“Mina,” someone breathes. “Mina, baby, please…” And it sounds exactly like Jisung - the same pitched baritone, a little higher than Hyunjin’s voice but lower than Jeongin’s. </p><p>And then a woman’s voice. Seungmin cringes, feeling his cheeks warm with embarrassment. He could have very easily gone his whole life without hearing that. In fact, it might have been better if he had. She says Jisung’s name and other more intimate things.</p><p>The camera spins upward and focuses on a grey couch. And there on the couch is Jisung, his half-naked body half-covering girl with her mouth at his neck. They're both in their underwear.</p><p>The floorboards groan- Hyunjin must have shifted his weight. He swears low in his throat. Jisung's head flips around. He looks straight at the camera and his eyes widen.</p><p>“Hyunjin, you bastard,” Jisung growls. “What the fuck are you doing?” He moves, as if to grab the camera. The girl is suddenly fully visible.</p><p>And the girl, she's… Seungmin’s heart drops even farther. Mina’s a popular enough name that it could have been anyone, but with her face fully revealed, Seungmin can’t help but recognize her.</p><p>His head spins. He closes down the video just as Jisung says something to Hyunjin that the phone audio doesn’t quite catch. He pulls out his headphones from his ears and hangs his head in his hands.</p><p>He knows that short black bob, that small frame and wide eyes. There, making out with Han Jisung on the couch of his apartment, was Kang Mina, Jaemin’s long-time girlfriend. The love of his best friend’s life, the one everyone thought he would eventually marry, the one he can never shut up about. Her, Kang Mina, Jaemin’s girlfriend, kissing Jisung’s neck, her hands tracing his back, probably having sex, too. </p><p>He wonders how long it’s been going on. He wonders if Changbin knows. He wonders how Hyunjin feels about it, if it's possible for him to be any more heartbroken over this absolute fucking mess of a boy. And then, his heart aching, Seungmin wonders how he’ll possibly be able to tell Jaemin.</p><p>His phone buzzes.</p><p>
  <em>Hyunjin: meet me at Jaemin's apartment. We can tell him together<br/>
Hyunjin: we have to tell him, right? </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. echoes of the past</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hyunjin and Seungmin break the news to Jaemin.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Soon after, Hyunjin sends him the address. Seungmin takes the intercity bus to the quiet western Seoul suburb to Jaemin’s hometown in a sort of haze. The entire way there, he tries desperately to think of what he might say to his friend. <em>You’ll never believe what’s happened?</em> True, but too flippant. <em>We have some really bad news?</em> True, but foreboding; Seungmin wants to decrease Jaemin’s suffering as much as possible, and he’s been on the receiving end of that split-second both confusion and apprehension - what kind of bad news? - before. </p><p>How the hell do you tell someone that the love of their life is cheating on them?</p><p>Once, when Seungmin was twelve, a few weeks before he left for his aunt and uncle’s house in pursuit of his dream, his seventeen-year-old sister came home in a storm of tears. After a few hours of her shutting herself up in her room and yelling at anyone who knocked to go away, she wandered downstairs to rant to their mom. Seungmin, who’d just returned from soccer practice, walked into the room just as she explained through a wash of tears that her boyfriend had cheated on her.</p><p>For the next two weeks, she was near inconsolable. While Dahyun is normally talkative, and was especially so during that period of her life, she started speaking exclusively in monosyllables. Whenever Seungmin saw her - on the couch, at the dining table - she was watching shows on her phone, sometimes while crying. But then he left to train with Miroh, and he missed the rest of her recovery. When he visited at Christmas, more than six months later, she acted like nothing had happened.</p><p>So he has no idea what this will do to Jaemin, or at least not in any real sense. The vague memory of his sister’s eleventh grade breakup makes him think there might be a lot of tears, a lot of junk food and TV, but Dahyun’s breakup, the end of a fleeting and ephemeral relationship of barely two months, was insignificant in comparison to this. </p><p>As far as Seungmin can remember, Mina and Jaemin have been together for two <em>years.</em> Together, they’ve seen graduation from high school, their dual ascent to national teams, and several stress-inducing national and international championships, not to mention likely dozens of obstacles known only to them alone. </p><p>A large part of him resents Mina for betraying Jaemin’s trust like this. But a smaller, pettier part of him blames Jisung, who even now will manage to hurt Hyunjin by forcing him to watch one of his closest friends endure pain. </p><p>He wonders, like he often does, why Hyunjin kept going back to Jisung. Why Jisung kept trying, knowing he’d slept with other people, knowing they’d fought bitterly. He thinks of their shared gazes, hungry, starving, and something hurts in his chest.</p><p>If he’s really honest with himself, he wants so badly to know what it feels like for someone to look at him like that, like he’s wanted, <em>needed,</em> like he’s an oasis in the desert, a remedy for pain. Or better yet, for someone to look at him in the way Jaemin and Mina look - looked - at each other: like the other’s dappled in starlight, an ember in the dust, illuminating a previously-hidden pathway to joy. </p><p>Sometimes, when Seungmin walks home alone after practice, with the sun long disappeared beyond the horizon and the streets nearly empty save for slumping late-night workers and babbling drunkards, a sharp feeling takes root in his chest. These days, he can call it by name: loneliness, the kind that can’t be solved by friendship alone.</p><p>On those nights, he goes home and lies in bed for hours, staring at the ceiling and wondering what might have happened if he’d made different choices. </p><p> </p><p>When he finally arrives at the bus stop, it’s close to 2 PM. The sun is shining brightly, almost too brightly, down on Neo Culture Club’s bustling suburb, where most of their players (including Jaemin) reside. The weather is almost starkly beautiful after so many months of dark winter clouds. The cheery cerulean of the sky beams down through sparse, puffy clouds, blowing quickly through the sky with the gusts of early spring wind..</p><p>Seungmin adjusts the zipper of his winter coat, pulling it up closer to his neck to protect against the chill, then checks his phone for the address. After a short walk from the bus stop, he spots a familiar black BMW idling in the parking lot of the apartment complex. He hurries over, his heartbeat picking up.</p><p>Hyunjin’s jacket-clad arm rests on the open car windowsill, the black polyester fabric dappled with light. The sun’s right in his eyes, and he squints up at Seungmin as he approaches the car. Even like this, he’s handsome.</p><p>There’s a silent moment as Seungmin tries to figure out what to say. “Hi,” he settles on finally. “How do we…” <em>How do we do this?</em></p><p>Hyunjin bites his lip, glancing down at the rearview mirror as he thinks. “I guess I’ll call him.” He turns off the car, the low roar of the engine abruptly quieting. “It might be better if we give him time to prepare.”</p><p>Seungmin steps back so he has space to get out. </p><p>The door slams as Hyunjin exits the car, hard enough to shatter glass. “I texted him before I left,” he says. He gestures towards the complex with the hand not holding his phone, as if to say, <em>after you.</em> “So he should be home.”</p><p>“What’s his apartment number?” A rock skitters under Seungmin’s feet as he walks through the parking lot. </p><p>Hyunjin grimaces. “227A, I think? I know he’s on the second floor.” He types something in his phone, then holds it up to his ear. “Hey… Yeah, we have something to tell you about Mina… Yes, Kang Mina… Yeah. See you in five.”</p><p>They walk in silence the rest of the way to the apartment, up two flights of stairs and through a virtual maze of hallways until they get to the right door. </p><p>Jaemin opens it almost immediately. When he does, he’s frowning. “Come in.” His eyes catch Seungmin’s; whatever he sees there makes his gaze darken even further.</p><p> </p><p>Jaemin’s apartment looks pretty much identical to Seungmin’s, but slightly more organized. Color-coded rows of ramen packets stand neatly on the counter; browned bananas and apples lie in large wooden bowls instead of on the red-gray granite of the kitchen countertop. The main difference, though, is the walls: whereas Seungmin’s are pretty much empty, Jaemin’s are decorated with photographs. </p><p>Some photos are clearly of Jaemin and his family; in the entryway, Seungmin spots a photo of a toddler Jaemin and a slightly older girl that must be his sister. Close by, there’s one of a wizened old man, perhaps a grandfather, standing next to a preteen Jaemin. But Seungmin also spots one of a teenage Jaemin and Mina holding hands and displaying high school diplomas; a recent-looking one of them standing side by side, backlit by a blue mountain range and a sunset; a cutesy selfie of Mina wearing a bright yellow bikini, holding up a peace sign and wearing a mischievous smile as a familiar boy in the background sleeps on a beach chair. </p><p>Seungmin awkwardly asks where the restroom is. When he gets there, his heart sinks even further. He sees a tube of bright red lipstick on the linoleum counter, a box of tampons peeking out of the medicine cabinet, a modest collection of hair ties lying next to the sink. There’s a quote on the wall next to the mirror in a European language he can’t read. Didn’t Mina take Italian in high school?</p><p>There’s so much of Mina here. It makes Seungmin feel a little awkward, like he’s being a voyeur. But it’s hard to miss, nonetheless: the house is heavy with belonging. It reminds him of his dream, the one that fills his stomach and turns his heart heavy, of the boy and the morning. </p><p>Seungmin doesn’t understand. How could she give up the ability to come home to someone that loved her in exchange for sex with a random colleague of her boyfriend’s? A colleague that definitely didn’t love her, would likely never love her, in fact seemed incapable of maintaining a steady relationship?</p><p>Seungmin closes the bathroom door behind him just as he hears Hyunjin say, his voice gentler than Seungmin’s ever heard it, “Hey, have you seen this video?”</p><p>The boys are sitting in adjacent chairs at the dining table, Hyunjin’s phone lying between them.</p><p>There’s a pause. “What video?” Jaemin’s expression flickers a little. </p><p>Hyunjin chews at his lip. His gaze flicks up to meet Seungmin’s, and the look in his eyes is almost painful. “You’ll see,” he says softly, looking down at the smooth oak of the table.</p><p>Seungmin settles into an empty seat just as Hyunjin plays the video. </p><p>And it may be the hardest thing Seungmin’s ever done.</p><p>The moment the girl gasps - before she’s even spoken, long before she’s shown on camera - Jaemin flinches like he’s been punched in the gut. Then he hides his head in his hands.</p><p>Hyunjin pauses it, his brow furrowed. “Do you want me to stop the video?”</p><p>Jaemin just shakes his head. When he speaks, his voice is rough. “No. I need to hear this.”</p><p> So they play it all the way to the end, past the part where Seungmin paused it at the bus station. At the end, Mina stands in front of the camera, clad in black lace lingerie for a split second before the camera moves abruptly to the floor. Hyunjin’s voice, sounding flustered as it comes through the phone speakers: “Sorry.”</p><p>“This is for him, right?” She sounds resigned. It doesn’t take much to guess who she means: Jaemin. That the video is proof for Jaemin. </p><p>It’s then that the video stops.</p><p>“I was picking up some stuff from Jisung’s house,” Hyunjin says quietly. “And they were there.”</p><p>Afterwards, there’s a long, long silence, so long Seungmin tries to speak three or four times but can’t quite make himself do it. Jaemin’s head stays buried in his hands, his elbows supporting his head off the table. Hyunjin, off at the far corner of the table, stares at his phone. His gaze is blank. Once, he opens his mouth, glances upward, but then closes it after looking at Jaemin.</p><p>After a few minutes pass, Jaemin suddenly stands up. He doesn’t make eye contact with either of them, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Hyunjin, are you okay if...?” He trails off, as if he’s unwilling to say whatever it is he started. His gaze flickers to Seungmin, sudden like he didn’t mean it to. </p><p>Hyunjin bites his lip. “It’s fine,” He says quickly. “Go ahead.” Like Jaemin, he glances at Seungmin, but his gaze is much heavier. </p><p>“You’re serious?” Jaemin’s tone is questioning rather than incredulous. “Don’t lie to me,” he adds, without rancor. “Not about this.”</p><p>Seungmin’s confused. <em>What are they talking about?</em></p><p>“I..” Hyunjin pauses. It’s unlike him to be at a loss for words. After a few seconds, he takes an audible breath. “You’re right.” His voice is tense. “Seungmin should stay with you, though.” </p><p>After a beat, Seungmin asks hesitantly, “What’s going on?” </p><p>“I need a drink,” Jaemin says, his voice rough. “I know it’s like 3 PM, but…” He trails off for a moment. “And he shouldn’t be here if I’m drinking.”</p><p>Seungmin glances at him. “We’ve been to bars before.” He thinks he knows what this is about, but isn’t sure. He notices Jaemin’s hands are shaking. </p><p>Jaemin presses his hands lightly against the table, but is otherwise silent. He looks at Hyunjin, as if waiting for him to cut in.</p><p>“It’s not the same,” Hyunjin says finally. He looks up from the table, his cheeks dusted with pink. Despite that, though, he meets Seungmin’s eyes. “Jaemin drinking because of this isn’t the same as a group of us going out for a beer or two after practice. At least not to me.” </p><p>“Why? Uh, what does that mean?” Seungmin remembers that day all those months ago, the day Hyunjin’s grandmother died. Jaemin left the restaurant for Hyunjin, telling Seungmin in a hushed, tense tone: <em>in case he drinks.</em> </p><p>“Because-” Hyunjin stops. It’s a full stop, not the kind for when you can’t think of what to say. The kind for secrets. </p><p>“Because-” He starts again. There’s a funny look on his face, one Seungmin can’t quite recognize. He looks down again, back at the table.</p><p>“You don’t have to tell him.” It’s Jaemin, his voice remarkably gentle for someone so clearly heartbroken. His hands press harder into the table; Seungmin watches as he blinks rapidly, his eyes bright like he’s thinking of something else. </p><p>“Just go,” Jaemin continues in that same tone. “Tell him later.”</p><p>“No.” Hyunjin shakes his head. “I’m being stupid.” He meets Seungmin’s eyes. “Um, do you remember last season, when I stopped drinking? It’s because I started going to an outpatient facility? The kind for recovering alcoholics.” It’s like he’s trying to lighten the weight of the information he’s sharing by turning it into questions. </p><p>It makes sense, though, in retrospect. Seungmin’s heart sinks. It’s not like he didn’t suspect it before, but to hear Hyunjin acknowledge it out loud is another matter.</p><p>“People drinking...” Hyunjin starts, then pauses. He looks uncomfortable. “People drinking for reasons like this is one of my relapse triggers. It can make it worse for me. I can usually handle it if no one gets drunk, and if no one’s drinking to forget or anything.” He looks away jerkily. “It sort of depends on the day, though. It’s why I don’t really hang with people often, because everyone drinks so much.” He chews at his lip. “So.”</p><p>It’s then that Seungmin recognizes the emotion on Hyunjin’s face. It’s shame. Hyunjin’s <em>ashamed.</em> Of all the reasons why Hyunjin hadn’t shared his history with alcohol, he hadn’t imagined this. It makes him feel- he’s not sure. Less like Hyunjin doesn’t trust him. He starts to understand that it might be more like this: Hyunjin not trusting himself.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Seungmin says awkwardly. He’s not sure it’s the right thing to say, and from the look on Hyunjin’s face, that isn’t it. “It doesn’t change anything for me,” he adds quickly. “I don’t care. And I’m sorry. It must be…” He searches for the right word, but it evades him. “..Difficult,” he finishes lamely. His cheeks burn. </p><p>Hyunjin bites his lip and doesn’t say anything. He looks at Seungmin, a flash of a glance, and in his gaze is something like gratitude.</p><p> </p><p>In the end, Seungmin doesn’t have to stay with Jaemin. After assuring them multiple times that what he really wanted was to be alone, he shoos them out the door and into the fading afternoon. Seungmin checks the online bus route and discovers there isn’t another bus until 3:30 PM, a good forty minutes from then. He sits down on a shady, out-of-the-way bench on the side of the complex with a sigh. After a few minutes, Hyunjin joins him. They look out together at the nearly empty parking lot, at the black BMW and Jaemin’s Rust Bucket and a few others. </p><p>“He’ll be okay,” Hyunjin says eventually. He’s leaning over, his elbows resting on the tops of his thighs. Seungmin notices that he’s linking and unlinking his fingers without looking. It strikes him as a stress action, the kind for when you’re too distracted by thoughts to know what you’re doing.</p><p>Seungmin nods. “I hope so.” A thought occurs to him. “And what about you?”</p><p>Hyunjin blinks, looking almost surprised.  “What about me?”</p><p>“Are you going to be…” Seungmin can’t finish it, not with Hyunjin looking at him like that. He trails off.</p><p>Hyunjin studies him for a long moment with that neutral, temperate gaze of his. He leans back suddenly, pressing his back against the bench, and says, “Why, because of the alcohol?”</p><p>“My sister says former addicts can be liars,” he replies. “I figured you might be lying about being fine with seeing Jaemin like that.” Seeing the blank expression on Hyunjin’s face, he clarifies, “Uh, she’s a nurse at a facility.”</p><p>“Why would I tell <em>you</em> the truth, then?” Hyunjin asks casually. “If I’m a liar, I mean.” There’s something strange in his expression, something Seungmin hesitates to name.</p><p>Seungmin’s heart pounds. “Because we’re friends,” he says.</p><p>“I’m friends with Jaemin.”</p><p>“But I wasn’t there,” he says, almost avoiding Hyunjin’s gaze. “When it all happened. I don’t know you as well. Sometimes that’s easier.” He swallows awkwardly. “I don’t know, that’s just something my sister says. It’s stupid.”</p><p>There’s that look again, the strange one. The sunshine cascading through the leaves of the trees dapples his face, highlighting Hyunjin’s cheekbones, those dark, dark eyes.</p><p>“It’s not stupid,” Hyunjin says, a lot quieter than Seungmin expected. “But I’m really fine.” He bites his lip, looking away for a split second before returning that intense gaze to Seungmin’s face. “Thank you, though. Usually, people are...” He pauses for a second, as if searching for words. “...Weirder about it,” he finishes.</p><p>Suddenly, he quirks a smile. He reaches out, his hand brushing Seungmin’s hair, the side of his face. His touch feels like fire. </p><p>Something whispers through Seungmin’s chest. He’s suddenly hyperaware of how close their bodies are, just centimeters, barely an inch of space between them. Hyunjin’s face is not too close, not close enough that a passerby would wonder. Just close enough that Seungmin’s brain flits to a wish that he’s been hiding for… a long time. Months upon months, now. </p><p>He admits it to himself, there, in that endless moment: he likes Hwang Hyunjin. He likes him as more than a friend. The thought sends a thrill of adrenaline through his veins, a heady cocktail of both fear and excitement. </p><p>He knows that of all people he could have liked, this secretive boy is objectively one of the most difficult. He <em>knows.</em> But he can’t help it.</p><p>Hyunjin laughs low in his throat. His hand whispers across Seungmin’s face then is gone. “There was a leaf in your hair,” he clarifies, a small smile tugging at his lips. Seungmin watches as he drops a small green leaf, letting it float lazily to the concrete of the sidewalk. There’s something in his eyes, still: that strange look, magnified tenfold. Like wonder, but her rougher, more intimate cousin. He feels it in his stomach.</p><p>“You keep looking at me like that,” Hyunjin asks quietly. “I can’t figure out if you’re afraid of me or want to sleep with me.” He shrugs. “I think maybe both?”</p><p>Record-scratch, freeze frame. Seungmin’s heart seizing. </p><p><em>“What?”</em> Seungmin leans back a little in his shock. It’s true, of course. But he never expected Hyunjin to say it. He didn’t realize he was so transparent. </p><p>Hyunjin seems to see something in Seungmin’s gaze, because he literally moves backward, further back than when they first sat down. They’re far now, six inches or more, and it feels like miles. Like leagues. </p><p>Hyunjin considers him for a moment, his expression indiscernible. His eyes are dark, dark pools. “I see the way you look at me,” he says finally, low in his throat. “It’s obvious. Obvious enough to Jisung, even, that he made me promise to stay away from you, back when we were...” He trails off. “You know. Together.”</p><p>“Why?” Seungmin can feel his heart in his ears. Even to himself, his voice sounds like a croak, grating against his throat in his nervousness. </p><p>Hyunjin visibly swallows. “Well, Jisung said…” He pauses; his cheeks begin to dust pink. “He said…” Suddenly, he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter what he said. Just that because of the way you were looking at me, he was afraid.”</p><p>“He shouldn’t have been,” Seungmin says, looking away. His pulse pounds away in his ears like a quick drum. His palms are sweating. “You weren’t into me.” <em>Aren’t,</em> some cruel part of his brain whispers. <em>He isn’t into you.</em></p><p>Hyunjin laughs a little, like he didn’t mean to. He looks both aggrieved and something else, something sadder and brighter all at once. </p><p>“What?” Seungmin asks, frowning. </p><p>“You sound like Jisung,” Hyunjin says, meeting Seungmin’s eyes directly. “He was always convinced no one would ever love him.” He raises his eyebrows. “Usually, people don’t make assumptions like that. They <em>ask.”</em> </p><p>Seungmin’s stunned. Too stunned, in fact, to say anything to him. He can’t assume. He can’t assume. The possible implications of that statement, though, are galvanizing. </p><p>“You know what, I’ve changed my mind,” Hyunjin says. In his eyes is a challenge; a nervous one, but a challenge nonetheless. “I’ll tell you why Jisung told me to stay away from you. It was after you’d walked in on us arguing, that day in the pool. He said that at first, he thought you only wanted sex, like him. But then you didn’t make a move, not for months, not even when you saw us arguing, and he realized that that wasn’t really what you were after. You wouldn’t hurt me.” </p><p>Seungmin’s face is on fire. He shifts, meaning to get up, afraid of where this might be going, suddenly afraid of both outcomes - <em>I don’t like you; I like you</em> - but Hyunjin’s hand brushes his wrist like a plea and he can’t make himself do it anymore.</p><p>“You want to tell me what Jisung thought you were after, or should I say it?” Hyunjin asks, almost gently. </p><p>There’s a beat.</p><p>“You,” Seungmin whispers. “Not just sex. You.”</p><p>Hyunjin holds his gaze for a few moments. “You know, he looked me in the eyes,” Hyunjin continues in a measured voice. His eyes are bright, bright as the stars. “And he said, “Don’t tell me you don’t want his heart, like he wants yours.”</p><p>Hyunjin closes his eyes. “And I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell him that. Because it was true.”</p><p>Seungmin can’t breathe. “Why didn’t you do anything?” He asks, his voice barely holding a whisper.</p><p>“It wasn’t my move to make. Not with Jisung… happening.” Hyunjin shrugs, but it holds little of the nonchalance he probably wanted it to. “Even with me and Jisung over for good. The move is yours, Seungmin.” And he says Seungmin’s name like it’s safe, like he’s never wanted to say anything else. His eyes are bright.</p><p><em>They’re over.</em> Something about the way he says it, the casual finality of it, makes Seungmin actually believe him.</p><p>“I don’t want you to feel like I’m forcing you to make a decision,” Hyunjin continues softly. His hand brushes Seungmin’s wrist again, and it sends a little shiver down Seungmin’s spine. “I want you to think about it. Really think about it. What do you want?” </p><p>He must see something in the expression on Seungmin’s face, because he rushes to complete the thought. “Don’t tell me now. Sleep on it. A lot. Then come back to me when you’re ready. I won’t be offended if you decide to turn me down.” </p><p>He pulls his hand away from Seungmin’s wrist, visibly trying to neutralize his expression. His phone buzzes, and he fishes it out of his pocket.</p><p>When he looks up, his gaze is torn. “I have to go. I’ll see you later, Seungmin.”</p><p>And just like that, he gets up off the bench and crosses the parking lot. A little while later, the black BMW rolls out of the lot and away into the bright sunshine of the afternoon.</p><p>Seungmin lets out a long breath, closing his eyes. He feels like he’s been running. <em>Oh my god.</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. red skies at dawn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The day of the next U-20 practice approaches. Things are brewing in the international team, and someone has gone missing.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>That night, he dreams of a boy, and he doesn’t try to pretend that it’s anyone else any longer. </p><p>The dream languors like a hot summer day. Later, it’ll seem fuzzy around the edges, like dreams often are. When he wakes, he remembers flashes of images, things like this: his fingers tracing Dream Hyunjin’s sharp collarbone and the elegant curve of his jaw. He remembers kissing the soft skin of Dream Hyunjin’s neck. The press of lips to his. And that feeling, a sharp desire accompanied by a sense of profound <em>belonging.</em> It hangs on his heart and flits through his chest, longer after he’s woken up.</p><p>He lays in bed for a long time that morning, just breathing. He watches the ceiling above him and wishes it were someone else’s.</p><p>For as many years as Seungmin can remember, he’s told himself that it’s too difficult for soccer players to have romantic relationships. That the endless practices and the weeks abroad is an insurmountable barrier to that dream of the boy that he’s been having consciously for months, and unconsciously for years. His parents mentioned it to him once: <em>it won’t be as easy as you’d like.</em> And it hasn’t been. </p><p>But he knows that millions of people all over the world have jobs with strange hours that take them abroad for several weeks a year. That these same people often succeed at maintaining fulfilling romantic relationships. Jaemin was proof, up until recently. Miroh’s captain, Chris, is proof at its extremes; he’s still engaged to be married despite extremes of distance. Even David fucking Beckham, one of the most famous professional soccer players in the world, has been married for over twenty years. And yet Seungmin tells himself that it’s too difficult, that he’s chosen a life that is incompatible with the life he dreams of behind closed eyelids. </p><p>Maybe it’s because it’s easier that way. Maybe it’s because the truth is difficult to bear. Because, after all, it’s not that <em>professional athletes<em> have trouble forming and keeping romantic relationships. It’s that <em>Seungmin</em> does. Fear catches him before he can start them. </em></em></p><p>
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</p><p>The truth is, he’s forgotten how to be a version of himself that isn’t lonely.</p><p>
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</p><p>And yet, like a dream, he’s been given a doorway. He can see the promise of a different future shining through the cracks: a boy and a dawn and white sheets. It’s there, just through the threshold, if he’s only brave enough to reach for it. But he can still feel the last nineteen years of his life - nineteen years of friendship and magic and yes, of course, loneliness - echoing through his brain.</p><p>
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</p><p>The next U-20 practice is a Monday, three days after Hyunjin’s confession. Seungmin spends the weekend either at Miroh practices, texting his friends on and off during the breaks. Felix goes to visit Jaemin on Saturday, right after he comes back from a visit to his parent’s house. When Seungmin asks how it went, Felix sends him a sad face emoji. Later, he fills Seungmin in with the details: Jaemin’s family berated him for breaking up with Mina, whom they apparently loved. Felix sends a text to their group chat, too: <em>Hyunjin don’t come there’s a lot of alcohol going around</em></p><p>
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</p><p>A few hours later, Hyunjin replies with a brief <em>ok.</em></p><p>
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</p><p>On Sunday afternoon, Seungmin visits Jaemin’s apartment. On his way up the stairwell, he nearly runs into a woman holding a large box. A split second later, he realizes that it’s Mina. They make awkward eye contact, and her eyes flash with belated recognition. She turns her face away, but not before Seungmin notices her mascara running down her face. <em>Is she crying?</em></p><p>
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</p><p>Seungmin glances at the box as she maneuvers around him and takes another step down the stairs. She’s somehow fit items meant for two or three cardboard boxes into only one, the box full to overflowing. Seungmin’s gaze just catches the edge of a picture frame just before an all-too-predictable disaster: she misses a step, skidding down half a flight of stairs and sending the box flying. Seungmin hears the sound of glass shattering. Mina swears. </p><p>
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</p><p>Among the wreckage sprawled out across the better half of an entire flight of concrete stairs, he sees the quote in Italian from Jaemin’s bathroom. It’s only a few steps below Mina’s feet, the glass frame now splintered into a thousand pieces across a few stairs. There are pictures, too, in similarly shattered frames, as well as various articles of clothing.</p><p>
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</p><p>If it was anyone else, Seungmin would have helped pick it all up. But he just stares for a few moments, unable to reconcile the fact that he’s literally staring at the last remnants of Jaemin’s relationship- girl, memories and all. The perpetrator of the breakup stands a few steps below him, her face scrunched up like she’s trying not to cry. His heart is a wash of both reluctant pity and vehement anger. </p><p>
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</p><p>He’s torn for a long second.</p><p>
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</p><p>Ultimately, he doesn’t help. He keeps walking. By the top of the next flight of stairs, he doesn’t feel bad about it.</p><p>
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</p><p>On Monday, Seungmin wakes to the sound of rain pounding against the eaves of the apartment. His room is awash in the blue haze of the dawn. The beginnings of the morning light flickers across his comforter and dances across the pale walls with the movement of the trees outside. He sits up in bed, wincing as a stab of pain shoots through a muscle in his neck. </p><p>
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</p><p>A few seconds later, his alarm kicks in. He groans, then reaches across the bed to turn it off. He glances at the time: 5:15 AM. </p><p>
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</p><p>Early. It’s always so early.</p><p>
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</p><p>It takes him longer than usual to get out of bed today. It’s more than just the rain- there’s a weird feeling in his chest, one that’s taken over his brain and his body since last Friday. After all, today is the first U-20 practice since the confession. </p><p>
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</p><p>He wonders hazily if Hyunjin’s up yet. Maybe not; he can’t remember if the Tigers practice on Monday mornings. </p><p>
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</p><p>He sits in bed for a few minutes, as long as he can justify. Then he gets changed, back into his usual green Miroh practice jersey and workout pants. Once he’s finished, he pads across his room and into the kitchen. The kitchen is dark, but he doesn’t bother to turn on a light. </p><p>
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</p><p>It’s a small enough kitchen that it’s easy to remember where everything is, even in the half-dark of the last hour before dawn. He grabs a banana from the perpetually-messy counter and fishes his apartment keys out of his hodgepodge drawer. He double knots his cleats without looking, puts on a black windbreaker to keep out the torrential spring rain, then slips out the door just as the clock strikes 5:30. </p><p>
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</p><p>He’ll be early, but that’s alright. He has a lot to think about. </p><p>
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</p><p>That day, practice goes quickly. For major league soccer, practice is only canceled in the most extreme of weather conditions. For the most part, rain or shine, they’re out on the field like clockwork, six mornings a week from the crack of dawn to the last strains of morning. </p><p>
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</p><p>They run through their usual series of warmups and drills, fitting in mock plays in the last hour or so. Coach, and by extension Chris, have been working them harder than usual this season. Seungmin’s been in more pain this past week or so than in previous seasons, but their new guys have been improving remarkably quickly as a result. Even perpetually pessimistic team members like Kai or San have started murmuring about their chances at making the final sixteen later that year. It’s a good kind of muttering to have - it gives everyone hope, makes them practice harder- so Coach does nothing to quell it.</p><p>
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</p><p>At the end of practice, with the team winded and covered in mud, Coach announces the date of their first game. It’s in late May, against the Changwon Knights. They’re not an easy team to beat, but not too difficult, either. Seungmin leaves practice strangely hopeful. </p><p>
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</p><p>He thinks of that feeling, that whisper in his chest at the end of last season: the feeling that this year would be different. He gets that feeling every year, but he’s starting to wonder if for the first time, it might have been predicting the truth.</p><p>
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</p><p>Just before he leaves the locker room, Chris catches his shoulder. </p><p>
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</p><p>“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” </p><p>
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</p><p>Seungmin turns. The captain must have just come out of the shower, because his dark hair is visibly damp and just starting to curl. The older boy swings his soccer bag over his shoulder, looking at Seungmin expectantly.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Uh, yeah, sure,” Seungmin replies, a little confused. “What’s up?” </p><p>
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</p><p>Chris opens his mouth, then closes it, like he’s thought the better of whatever he was going to say. He looks around the locker room for a few seconds. Then his gaze catches on something, and he frowns. He pulls on a windbreaker over his black tee, then says, “Walk with me?”</p><p>
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</p><p>“Sure,” Seungmin replies. Like most questions from Chris, it’s really more of an order. He’s heard more than once from some of the older guys that their captain just phrases them that way to be polite. </p><p>
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</p><p>Chris rarely talks to team members alone. The only time Seungmin’s ever witnessed it was last year, after one of the older guys almost started a fight with a new kid that wasn’t using honorifics. Seungmin follows him out, racking his brain for the reason Chris wants to talk to him alone.</p><p>
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</p><p>They push past the locker room doors and into the hall of the main building. The old, overhead fluorescents flicker above them, reflecting in the shiny yellow tile of the floor.</p><p>
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</p><p> “How’s the international team going?” Chris asks casually. Their footsteps echo as they walk through the long hallway. The window in the exit door shows a dark rectangle of the parking lot being slapped by torrential rain.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Uh, fine.” Seungmin swallows. </p><p>
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</p><p>“Did you get any new teammates this year?”</p><p>
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</p><p>Seungmin nods. “A few.” <em>Where is this going?</em></p><p>
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</p><p>Chris grimaces, then says, his tone almost apologetic, “I know this is really sudden, but I’d like you to talk to Jeongin about trying out for the under-20s next season.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Seungmin feels his eyes widen. “Uh, why?” </p><p>
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</p><p>The older boy chuckles a little, glancing at the floor. “Have you seen his technique?” </p><p>
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</p><p>With anyone else, it would be a rhetorical question. But Chris, ever the leader, looks expectantly back.</p><p>
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</p><p>The truth was, Seungmin hadn’t been paying much attention to Jeongin’s technique. For the last year or so that he’d been on the team, the younger boy had been a benchwarmer, so Seungmin hadn’t gotten any chances to see him play outside of a structured practice setting. And though he was friendly with Jeongin, he wouldn’t class them as <em>friends,</em> exactly. While Seungmin was technically one of the younger players on the team, the newest members, seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds like Jeongin and Kai and the rest, tended to band together, with the nineteen-year-olds like Seungmin hanging out with the early twenties. So they didn’t interact enough for him to notice any drastic differences.</p><p>
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</p><p>Chris seems to see it on his face. “No big deal,” he says, shrugging. “He was, um- okay before, but he put in a fuck ton of practice time over the break, enough that I think he might be as good as Yunho now.” It was high praise; Yunho was the third-best on the team, following Chris and Seungmin. Chris continues, “I want him to try out for the under-20s next season, but I know it might feel like it’s an obligation if it comes from me, you know?” </p><p>
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</p><p>Seungmin nods awkwardly. “So you want me to talk to him?”</p><p>
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</p><p>“Could you?” Chris asks earnestly. “He has a lot of potential. He just needs to realize it.” Suddenly, he quirks a smile. “Sort of like you, actually.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Seungmin doesn’t know what to say. Luckily for him, Chris seems okay with silence. They reach the end of the hallway, then say their goodbyes as they part on the steps outside. Chris heads left, towards the downtown area. Seungmin heads to the bus stop in the opposite direction, squinting through the haze of the downpour. </p><p>
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</p><p>He reaches the stop, a little worse for wear. His shoes squelch under his feet. A familiar boy sits under the awning, shivering slightly and staring at his phone.</p><p>
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</p><p>Seungmin smiles. “Jeongin!”</p><p>
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</p><p>He looks up and smiles that bright, boxy smile of his. “Oh, hey!”</p><p>
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</p><p>Seungmin leaves for the U-20 practice around 5 PM, his heartbeat already picking up. He’s formulated in his head a dozen times already what he might say to Hyunjin, but none of them seem right. There are so many things he wants to say, but so little he’s willing to say out loud. </p><p>
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</p><p>He arrives at the locker room about ten minutes before practice starts. When he pushes open the swinging door, it’s unusually quiet, so much so that it makes Seungmin frown. Usually, the louder members of the team - Mingi, Jisung, and the like - are chattering away like their lives depend on it. As he rounds the corner of the first locker block, he catches Jihoon and Mingi whispering near their lockers, so intently they don’t even notice when Seungmin comes in. </p><p>
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  <em>I wonder what’s going on…</em>
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</p><p>Seungmin passes by Jaemin, who he greets quietly. Jaemin gives him a wave, dark circles painted under his eyes.</p><p>
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</p><p>This season, Felix took the locker directly next to his. When he arrives at the back of the locker room, the normally bright Aussie boy seems to have just arrived. He’s pulling his soccer bag off his shoulder just as Seungmin comes up in front of him. He’s frowning deeply.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Hey,” Seungmin says. Then, more quietly, “Is something going on?”</p><p>
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</p><p>“Fucking Jisung,” Felix mutters, his tone unusually dark. “I can’t stand him.” It’s a nonanswer, but it provides just enough information so that Seungmin has the vaguest of ideas what’s happened. If it was going to be anyone Felix was angry at, Seungmin supposes Jisung makes the most sense. Jisung’s fought with half the team at some point or other. </p><p>
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</p><p>Felix tosses his bag into the back of his locker with considerable force. There’s a thump as the bag connects with the metal backing.</p><p>
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</p><p>He looks around to check that that particular boy hasn’t somehow migrated into their locker block, then whispers, “What did he do?” </p><p>
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</p><p>Felix just shakes his head. He closes the lock with a sharp tug. When he looks up, he attempts a smile. “At least we won’t have to deal with the tension today,” he says, his tone lighter.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Why?” Seungmin asks. “What tension?”</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Felix shrugs. “Hyunjin is out sick. They can’t be weird to each other if he’s not here.” He’s clearly picked up on the leftover fumes of the breakup, even if he doesn’t know exactly why Jisung’s been steaming like an overcooked mandu the past two weeks or so. </p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p><em>He’s not here.</em> He’s almost disappointed, but then that feeling is quickly replaced by something worse. <em>Wait, how is he not here?</em></p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Felix makes eye contact with Seungmin. His gaze flickers. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Nothing,” Seungmin says. He has a strange feeling in his gut, though, one that snakes up his throat and waits. “I guess… He’s never missed practice, not even when he had that flu thing last year.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
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</p><p>Jaemin, sounding markedly less enthusiastic than usual, calls out something in the background. </p><p>
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    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Felix shrugs. “Maybe he had something come up. Anyway. We should head up.” He gestures to the door to the field. </p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
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</p><p>Seungmin nods, but his thoughts are elsewhere. “I’ll catch up in a sec, I just have to do something first.” </p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
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</p><p>Felix turns to leave. The moment he does, Seungmin pulls out his phone and types in Hyunjin’s contact info.</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Seungmin: hey, are you okay?</em>
</p><p>
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    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>He doesn't know why he does; Hyunjin rarely responds within an hour, much less immediately. He probably won’t know what’s wrong until after practice. But that strange feeling gnaws away at his gut nonetheless. It feels like… it feels like seeing a shadow right before you see the rest of the beast. Maybe. </p><p>
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    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Seungmin’s head whirls. What could possibly be wrong? </p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>A thought occurs to him just as he hears the door to the field slam shut, the voices of his teammates disappearing behind the heavy metal door. He hesitates. If there’s one person that might know what’s wrong with Hyunjin… But is it worth it?</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>As it turns out, he doesn’t have to choose. When he turns the corner of the locker block, meaning to go to the door and follow his teammates, Jisung is standing in front of it, his arms crossed. His eyes are narrowed, but the feeling simmering behind his eyes is clearly not anger.</p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>Seungmin would be lying if he said he doesn’t find Jisung a little imposing after everything he’s learned about him. The other boy is shorter than him and less muscular than he’s been in previous years; somehow, Jisung’s lost muscle mass without Seungmin noticing. But despite that, he’s done enough to hurt the people Seungmin cares about - Hyunjin, Jaemin, likely others - that he’s more than a little intimidated.</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I know what you’re about to ask,” Jisung says. He sounds- strange. Not as aggressive as Seungmin would have expected. “I think you should go.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Seungmin blinks. “Go where?” </p><p>
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    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“To him,” Jisung says simply. He looks behind him, as if checking for teammates, and then continues, “I know you probably think I don’t care about him. But I spent over a year sleeping in his bed, I know him better than you might realize. Something’s wrong. He wouldn’t miss a day of practice for a physical illness, no matter how bad it was.”</p><p>
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    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I know that,” Seungmin replies, but without rancor. “What am I supposed to do about it, though?”</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Jisung sighs. “I’ll cover for you. I’ll say you’re projectile vomiting or some shit and that you took the bus home.” When Seungmin doesn’t immediately reply, he urges, “Fucking go, you idiot. I’m telling you to go. Find him.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>The urgency in his voice strikes a chord. Seungmin’s faint worry upticks to mild panic. Trying to sound calm, he asks, “Why would you do that for me? Or, uh, why would you do that for <em>him?</em> He, uh, broke up with you, right?”</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
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</p><p>There’s a pause. Jisung’s expression is strange again, complicated in a way that Seungmin can’t quite parse. It almost reminds him of Hyunjin, of that familiar, complicated look of his.</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p> “I think,” Jisung says slowly, not quite meeting Seungmin’s eyes, “you’ve vastly misunderstood me if you have to ask that. I won’t try to explain myself to you. Take the gift.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>It feels wrong to say it, but it also feels wrong to not say it, so Seungmin settles on the former. “Thank you,” he says, a little stiffly. </p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>To his surprise, Jisung shakes his head and looks away. “Don’t,” he says roughly. “Not to me.”</p><p>
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    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“What-” Seungmin stops. “Uh, what do you think is wrong?”</p><p>
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    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Jisung laughs darkly. It’s completely absent of humor, but it seems inappropriate to Seungmin nonetheless. “With Hyunjin, there’s only ever one thing.” He turns around, not giving Seungmin a second glance. “You’d better hurry.” And his voice- is that <em>worry?</em></p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>Seungmin grabs his bag, sitting unopened on the wooden bench near his locker. He jogs down the hallway, escaping out the back door and into the last remains of the downpour. </p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Once he gets to the bus stop, he checks his phone. His text sits there in the virtual space between them, unread and unanswered:</p><p>
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    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Seungmin: hey, are you okay?</em>
</p><p>
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    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Nothing from Hyunjin. </p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>That strange, worried feeling grows. It grows as he takes the long bus ride from the international field to the JYP Tiger’s home city, where Hyunjin resides. It grows as he answers worried texts from Jaemin and Felix, as he stares out the grimy bus window at the bright, neon lights of the city and wonders what Hyunjin is doing.</p><p>
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    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>He thinks about Jisung, too, about the strange look in his eyes and the uncharacteristic gift. He mulls over his aggressive teammate’s words and for a second, thinks he might understand, finally, why Hyunjin spent so much time with Jisung. </p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>But then he arrives, the rain pouring down around him, the humidity choking his throat, and he can’t think about it any longer. His thoughts are too filled with this: <em>What’s going on with Hyunjin?</em> And this, too, a quiet thought his brain can hardly bear to accept: <em>What if he’s drinking again?</em></p><p>
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</p><p>He's never seen Hyunjin like that. And by God, he doesn't want to.</p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. the quiet of the night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Seungmin looks for Hyunjin in his apartment.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: panic attack.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Seungmin takes the elevator up to Hyunjin’s floor. It’s been fixed since he last visited, a spare, stainless steel box without railings or carpeting that creaks uncomfortably. It stops at the second floor, and at first Seungmin, his heart rate already raised, thinks it’s breaking with him in it. But then, three or four agonizing seconds later, the shiny metal doors crawl open. Two women hurry on, chattering between themselves. Neither can be older than twenty-four or twenty-five. </p><p>“... sure it’s her?” The taller of the two girls asks, her eyes wide. “Maybe it was just someone that looked like her.” She and her friend sequester in a far corner of the elevator, glancing over at Seungmin briefly.</p><p>Seungmin glances down at his phone, trying to make it clear he’s not interested in their conversation. </p><p>The girl’s friend makes a noise of disbelief. “Didn’t you see her dress? It was definitely her. Fuck, I’ve seen all her movies and everything. And anyway, I saw a Maserati in the lot.” </p><p>Seungmin hears shuffling, like someone searching through a bag. The reflective metal floor glints at him in the background of his vision, his reflection swimming blurrily just above his Adidas sneakers.</p><p>When the first girl speaks again, she sounds distracted. There’s more rustling. “I figured that neighbor of yours got a new car, or something.” </p><p>“Which one?”</p><p>“The one with the BMW, who else? Soccer guy. He has the vibes.”</p><p>Seungmin looks up sharply before he can stop himself. <em>Hyunjin. They have to be talking about Hyunjin.</em> He catches the girl’s gaze by accident. She blinks back at him for a half-second before turning back to her friend.</p><p>The girl lowers her voice, enough that Seungmin can barely hear. The consonants carry farther than the vowels; he barely catches some of the words. “Oh, him. No, he’s had that car since forever, I don’t think he’d get a new one.” The girl pauses. “You know, there’s a rumor in my complex that he…”</p><p>
  <em>That he what?</em>
</p><p>And then the shiny stainless steel elevator doors open to the third floor- Hyunjin’s floor. Seungmin has no choice but to step off. He catches the tail end of their conversation, the few words that his ears can pick up: “son” and “film,” a few others. But then the doors close behind him and the whisper of female voices abruptly cuts off. The neon arrow on the elevator frame turns downward as it heads back to the ground floor.</p><p> Seungmin hurries down the exposed hallway, the cool evening breeze wafting in from the side open to the parking lot below. It washes over the suspended flower boxes, sending tiny, star-like pink flowers shuddering. The leaves shiver in the wind. He hears an echo of the tinny, muffled sound of a baby crying, drifting down the hallway. </p><p>The walls are thin here. The knowledge comforts him a little; if something was really wrong, he’d hear it before he even knocked on Hyunjin’s door.</p><p>He thinks back to the whispers of the women in the elevator. <em>There’s a rumor in my complex that he… </em></p><p>For the third or fourth time in the last few weeks, Seungmin remembers what Jaemin told him about Hyunjin’s family, about the absent mother and the mother-like grandmother. Hyunjin’s past feels like he’s staring at ghosts: he sees the outline, the suggestion of people and places and memories, but where the details should be, there’s nothing but dust.</p><p>He reaches the end of the hallway. All of a sudden, he’s standing outside Hyunjin's apartment. The familiar oak door stands tall in front of him, the rusted metal numbers hanging a little askew. He lifts up his fist, ready to knock, but then something stops him. The wind rushes past like a breath, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. </p><p>It’s then that he realizes that the door is ajar. </p><p>Not enough for the average passerby to notice; just a quarter of an inch open, maybe, just enough that the latch bolt hasn’t quite fit into the lock hole. Careless. </p><p>But Hyunjin is anything but careless. As long as Seungmin has known him, he’s treated his privacy with care, keeping them carefully away from stranger’s eyes. Secrets go in cabinets, in drawers, behind locked doors. Behind doors that stay locked. Doors that are opened by Hyunjin himself, not left hanging open.</p><p>This is something a teenage Dahyun might do; the product of a forgetful brain, awash in a haze brought on by general fatigue or recreational drugs. Seungmin’s parents hammered it into his brain at an early age: <em>don’t leave the door open, it’s unsafe. Things might get in that are supposed to stay out.</em></p><p>Adrenaline rushes through his veins, turning his heart to ice. His fingers are tingling. He shoves them into his pockets, then pulls them out again. He reaches for the doorknob, and his fingers close in on the cool metal. He pulls on the handle.</p><p> The door creaks open, slow and sure. The apartment is dark, so dark that it’s like no one’s been in for hours. A thin shaft of light, growing larger as he opens the door, beams across the dark floor. And there's no sound. No sound at all.</p><p>“Hyunjin?” Seungmin asks, his breath catching. “Are you here?” </p><p>He takes a step in and closes the door behind him. He hears the lock click. A tiny portion of his anxiety releases at the knowledge that at least, nothing else can get in. </p><p>“Hyunjin?” Seungmin says again. He takes a step, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet. He doesn’t know whether to take off his shoes, so he doesn’t. The apartment smells faintly of air freshener, or maybe some type of lemon cleaning product. He passes the coat rack and gets a whiff of Hyunjin’s sandalwood cologne. But no smell of alcohol. </p><p>There’s a dark form. It’s just around the corner of the open kitchen, sitting motionlessly in a chair. Seungmin can’t see anything. He can’t tell who it is. He reaches for a light switch without looking, his hand scrabbling against the wall. He connects with plastic just as the form shifts.</p><p>
  <em>Please be Hyunjin, please be Hyunjin...</em>
</p><p>The light flicks on. </p><p>And there’s a boy sitting at the table, his head in his hands. Seungmin knows the sharp tilt of his shoulders, the long lines of his neck and the glossy fall of his hair. It’s Hyunjin. It’s Hyunjin.</p><p>Seungmin sighs audibly. </p><p>A second later, Seungmin realizes that Hyunjin’s shoulders are shaking.</p><p> He rockets over to the table. His hand hovers near the other boy’s back but doesn’t connect. His thoughts are blurry. He doesn’t know what to do. </p><p>“Hyunjin?” Seungmin asks nervously. “Are- are you okay?”</p><p>He shakes his head, so minutely that Seungmin almost misses it. That answer should frighten him, but instead, he’s filled with a sense of relief. <em>It’s good that he’s responding, at least.</em> The feeling fades, however, when Hyunjin doesn’t speak.</p><p>Seungmin lightly touches Hyunjin’s wrist. He doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t know what to say. He has no idea what’s going on. </p><p>“Hey, uh, it’s Seungmin,” he says, hearing the worry in his voice as clear as day. </p><p>And then, his head still in his hands, still visibly shaking, Hyunjin gasps. It sounds like he’s been drowning and he’s only just come up for air. It’s the kind of sound, Seungmin realizes, for you’ve been trying not to cry. </p><p>And then he does cry, and Seungmin is so surprised by the sound of sobbing coming from <em>Hwang Hyunjin</em> that he freezes. For a few minutes, Hyunjin’s body shakes with horrible, wracking sobs. They pull from his lungs and gather in his throat. He’s still hiding his face in his hands. Seungmin doesn’t touch him - he doesn’t want to alarm him - but he doesn’t move either. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to do. So he does nothing, mostly. </p><p>After two minutes, Seungmin gets up and gets him a glass of water. </p><p>When Hyunjin’s sobs have quieted, he takes a short, jagged breath. He lifts his head from his hands. His eyes are red and puffy from crying, and he doesn’t quite meet Seungmin’s gaze.</p><p>Seungmin pushes the water glass towards him, feeling awkward. “You should drink some of that,” he says.</p><p>Hyunjin visibly swallows. He shakes his head, then rubs his face with one hand, an unconscious gesture that reminds Seungmin of exhaustion. “I’m sorry,” he says thickly. He takes another jagged, deep breath. “That you had to see that.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” Seungmin responds after a pause. “I thought-” He stops, reformulates his thoughts. “Jisung thought that you…” He trails off once he realizes belatedly that he’s not sure, in fact, whether or not Hyunjin’s relapsed. He doesn’t smell like alcohol, but all that really means is he hasn’t been drinking heavily in the past few hours or so. </p><p>Hyunjin’s expression makes it halfway to wry, but he’s too tired for it to stick. “What, that I’d relapsed?”</p><p>He seems remarkably lucid. Seungmin’s tiny feeling of relief grows considerably. <em>I don’t think he’s been drinking; at least not a lot.</em> “Did you?” He asks anyway.</p><p>There’s an excruciatingly long moment. “I almost did,” Hyunjin says quietly. He stares down at the table, a light blush working across his cheeks. “But no.” </p><p>“Oh.” Seungmin swallows. “Do you- do you want to talk about it?”</p><p>Hyunjin shrugs, but the look in his eyes is anything but nonchalant. “I don’t know,” he says, his gaze still fixed on the swirling grain of the table. He bites his lip. “I guess?”  </p><p>His voice goes up as he says it, like when he told Seungmin about his past alcohol issues. Their gazes meet.</p><p>Seungmin feels the ghost of a shiver whisper down his spine. “Have you ever had a panic attack before?” He asks hesitantly. He saw Dahyun have one once. It was at a family holiday celebration back in high school. That was more than enough for him.</p><p>Hyunjin’s gaze darkens. He just shakes his head. It feels less like he’s answering the question and more like he’s responding to another, separate question, more like <em>Do you want to talk about panic attacks at all?</em></p><p>Seungmin takes the hint. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “I don’t know what…” <em>What you’re okay talking about,</em> his brain finishes for him. </p><p>Hyunjin, to his relief, seems to understand. He brushes back his hair again, taps his free hand on the table. He visibly swallows. “It was my mom,” he says finally. “She came to visit.”</p><p>Seungmin remembers the girls in the elevator. The edge of a memory flashes through his brain. “Uh… this is going to sound weird,” he says quickly. “But by any chance, does your mom drive a Maserati?”</p><p>Hyunjin gives him a funny look. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “How’d you know?”</p><p>Seungmin shakes his head. The memory becomes a full-fledged suspicion. “Never mind,” he says. “It doesn’t matter.”</p><p>But regardless, it dredges up from the back of his brain. He thinks of the girls in the elevator, the sharp lines of Hyunjin’s profile, and something else, someone else, someone he hasn’t thought about for years and years. After all, didn’t the girls in the elevator say that there was an actress visiting the compound? </p><p>He doesn’t ask about it. It’s not the right time to ask, especially not about something so potentially invasive. Especially not with Hyunjin recovering from a panic attack.</p><p>“So, uh,” Hyunjin starts. “My mom-” There’s that voice again, that tone of Hyunjin’s, drawing a line in the sand even as he talks about her “-she’ll stop by sometimes, usually unannounced. She came by at like-” He pauses. “Three or four, maybe? She knows about my issues so she doesn’t usually show up drunk, but I guess she forgot.” He bites his lip almost aggressively. There’s a pause. </p><p>It’s another one of those pauses, the ones where it feels less like Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say and more like he’s deciding how <em>/much<em> he wants to say. Seungmin just watches him for a few moments, the other boy’s gaze focused on the table in front of him, his cheeks painted pink with embarrassment or, Seungmin thinks uncomfortably, probably shame. His silky hair falls a little over his forehead, not long enough anymore to block his face. </em></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
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</p><p>Hyunjin looks the most uncomfortable that Seungmin’s ever seen him- shifting in his seat, tapping his fingers on the table, biting his lip so hard Seungmin worries it’ll bleed. And yet he continues, still forcing out the reasons that led him to this moment. He’s clearly embarrassed, ashamed, probably a whole bucketload of other unpleasant emotions, and yet he pushes on. </p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Why? For Seungmin? It seems like it. But he knows, too, that it’s also probably for Hyunjin himself. </p><p>
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</p><p>Seungmin knows that sometimes secrets are just secrets, benign and harmless, kept secret only because the bearer prefers it that way. But he knows, too, that sometimes, when you leave certain things in baskets and cupboards too long, they start to fester. Admitting that you have that kind of secret may be painful and awkward and uncomfortable, but Seungmin is starting to realize it may not be half as painful as trying to hold onto the secret alone, holding it down for so long in the darkness that you forget what it’s like to let it see the light. That the relief from sharing the burden may be worth all the fear of having it known. Of having yourself known.</p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>  “You know how substance abuse can be genetic?” Hyunjin says suddenly. He meets Seungmin’s gaze. His eyes are crinkled with embarrassment, but that glimmer of defiance, that confident streak that Hyunjin’s always had despite his reticence, shines in his eyes.</p><p>
  <em>
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</p><p>Seungmin nods.</p><p>
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</p><p>“She showed up drunk and talked a bunch of shit about my grandmother,” he says finally. “I could smell the alcohol on her. And I couldn’t handle it. She left while I was…” He gestures to himself self-consciously. “You know.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
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</p><p>That explained the half-open door. While Seungmin couldn’t imagine Hyunjin ever forgetting to lock a door, he could imagine a drunk middle-aged woman doing so. </p><p>
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</p><p>“She just… left?” Seungmin asks quietly. “While…”</p><p>
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</p><p>Hyunjin shrugs. “She’s not winning any mom of the year awards.” He reaches up to brush his hair back. His hand is trembling, just enough that Seungmin catches the motion out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>
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    <em></em>
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</p><p>He sees Seungmin looking, and he laughs a little, sounding embarrassed. He shakes his head, as if answering some unasked question. “Um, so,” he says. “That’s why.”</p><p>
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</p><p>Seungmin wants… he feels it in his heart, like a weight. He wants so badly to be brave enough to do the things he wants to. If Hyunjin, secretive and enigmatic for so long, can gather up the courage to tell him this, then he should be able to...</p><p>
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</p><p>Adrenaline kicks in.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Can I hold your hand?” Seungmin asks quietly. His heart is pounding so loud he feels like Hyunjin should be able to hear it.</p><p>
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</p><p> “Is that okay?” he adds when Hyunjin doesn’t immediately reply.</p><p>
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</p><p>Hyunjin looks at Seungmin for a long moment. His gaze is complicated, and for a second, for a long series for seconds Seungmin thinks he’s made a mistake.</p><p>
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</p><p>Then, so softly he almost misses it, Hyunjin says, “Please.”</p><p>
  <em>
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</p><p>Seungmin reaches over. Hyunjin’s hand is still trembling a little, but it’s warm. Hyunjin lets out a shaky breath. His eyes close for a brief moment. When he opens them, he’s smiling a little.</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
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</p><p>“So,” he says. He catches Seungmin’s gaze. “Do you maybe have something to say to me?” </p><p>
  <em>
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</p><p>“Yeah,” Seungmin says after a pause. “Uh…” </p><p>
  <em>
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</p><p>Hyunjin’s gaze is fixed on his face, his expression turning difficult to read again. He feels his cheeks start to warm with the force of the boy’s gaze.</p><p>
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</p><p>Seungmin swallows. His heart pounds in his ears. He feels himself starting to sweat. It’s like just before a World Cup game, unsure of the outcome. Adrenaline rushes through his veins.</p><p>
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</p><p>He knows, logically, that he shouldn’t be this nervous. He already knows how Hyunjin feels about him, after all. But something about this moment, about the emotional force of what he wants to say, unbalances him. </p><p>
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</p><p>“I really like you,” Seungmin says honestly. “And it kind of terrifies me, but in a good way, I guess. I guess I’ve...” For a second, his nerves get the best of him, and he loses track of what he’s saying. He stops, reconfigures. “I want to be more than friends,” he finishes. “If you’re interested.”</p><p>
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</p><p>At first, Hyunjin doesn’t say anything. He just studies Seungmin’s face. Eventually, he says, “Actually?”</p><p>
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</p><p>“Yeah,” Seungmin replies. </p><p>
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</p><p>Hyunjin breaks into a wide grin. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then closes it. Then, “You’re not doing anything tomorrow night, right?”</p><p>
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</p><p>Seungmin shakes his head, unable to contain his smile. “No, why?”</p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p>
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</p><p>Later, they sprawl out on Hyunjin’s couch. Some part of Seungmin is hyperaware of the fact that if he was Jisung, if this thing between them was different, they might be having sex right now.</p><p>
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</p><p>As it is, they’re both entirely clothed. They’ve turned on the TV to some variety show with middle-aged comedians and bright-faced guest stars that look almost tangibly hungry for recognition. The sound of the night fades in Seungmin’s ears as it floats in from the open window. A water glass lies on the table - Hyunjin’s - long since emptied, the ice cubes melting slowly at the bottom. The baby down the hallway is crying intermittently, the sound making it through several apartment’s worth of drywall.</p><p>
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</p><p>A heavy weight shifts slightly on his shoulder. Seungmin freezes. He risks a glance, but Hyunjin’s eyes are still closed, his face relaxed, deep in the throes of sleep as he rests his head on Seungmin’s shoulder. In the buzzing fluorescent light, the dark circles under his eyes are thrown into sharp relief. His full lips are bright red, redder in the places where he’s been biting them practically all afternoon.</p><p>
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</p><p>A bright clatter of laughter erupts from the nearly muted TV as a comedian says something funny enough to merit three different kinds of subtitles. Seungmin can feel the warmth of Hyunjin’s thigh pressing against his own. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a sliver of skin: Hyunjin’s shirt has rolled up a little, revealing a thin swath of pale skin in between the waistband of his pants and the raised hem of his t-shirt.  Their hands are entwined, but just barely, resting on Seungmin’s leg. </p><p>
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</p><p>He checks his phone: 10:24 PM. For a second, panic rushes through him, but then he remembers that it’s okay if he stays over this time. That Jisung will never be coming over again because he’s lost all right to Hyunjin’s bed, because Hyunjin isn’t into him anymore. That Hyunjin and Seungmin… well.</p><p>
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</p><p>Seungmin feels like he’s walked backwards into a daydream. </p><p>
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</p><p>Just then, a thought tugs at his brain, before he can stop it. He looks back at Hyunjin, and his sharp jawline and full lips and jutting collarbone, just visible beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, and can’t help but see the resemblance.</p><p>
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</p><p>When Seungmin was little, his mom was a big fan of this actress named Hwang Jiyoung. The lady used to be a model and had the face to prove it: full lips and sharp cheekbones, with a naturally jutting bone structure that made her seem thinner than she actually was. She was young, young enough that older male actors called her things like <em>niece</em> and <em>kid</em> and actors of any age or gender called her things like <em>cute</em> and <em>charming.</em> Seungmin’s family watched a lot of her movies when he was little: rom coms and family dramas, the kinds of movies that can make you famous with people of all ages. </p><p>
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</p><p>One day, though, he caught his parents murmuring about her when they thought he was asleep. His mom said something like: <em>She ruined her career,</em> or <em>What was she thinking?</em> When he wandered in and asked why, she told him she’d had a baby. </p><p>
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</p><p>“How is she married yet?” He’d asked curiously. He was only six or seven, and his conception of birth had yet to include non-married couples. To Seungmin, you could only have a baby if you were married.</p><p>
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</p><p>“Oh, pumpkin,” she’d said softly. “People don’t have to be married to have babies.” </p><p>
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</p><p>Years and years later, he read it in an old article: <em>Eighteen-year-old Hwang Jiyoung gets pregnant, stops career to take care of baby.</em> People speculated for years who the father was: was it her older male co-star that had recently gotten divorced? Was it a director, a staff member, someone taken, someone older, maybe both? </p><p>
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</p><p>He didn’t see her in a blockbuster film ever again, but as he got older, he’d hear some of the older boys whisper about her when they thought no one was listening. Things about adult movies and the kinds of clubs you had to be 21 to enter. <em>Did you hear about Hwang Jiyoung,</em> they’d say, half-chuckling with glee. <em>She got herself knocked up and addicted to drugs, now the only place she can get a job is a brothel.</em></p><p>
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</p><p><em>Didn’t she have a kid, too?</em> A female classmate would sometimes mention, if one happened to be listening. <em>Damn, I’d hate to be him.</em></p><p>
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</p><p>Something about it fits. It might be the likeness, impossible to notice if you’re not paying attention but stark once you see it. It would certainly explain a lot: the fact that he clearly comes from money, the difficult relationship with his mom, the absence of his dad. But he knows, too, there are plenty of people born to normal parents that face the exact same difficulties. So maybe it’s this, instead: a strange feeling, one that only grows stronger the longer he tries to ignore it. The fact that a former actress's arrival to the apartment complex coincides perfectly with Hyunjin's panic attack.</p><p>
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</p><p>He’s not going to ask. Hyunjin will tell him if it's true when he’s ready. But the thought burrows in his heart nonetheless. </p><p>
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</p><p>And does it even matter, anyway? We are more than the secrets we keep.</p><p>
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</p><p>So he just goes back to his Twitter scroll, listening to the sound of Hyunjin’s regular breathing and the bright laughter of the variety show in the background, and letting a sense of calm wash over him as the night haze slips further over his brain. Until he nods off, leaning his head against Hyunjin's, his heart full to bursting.</p><p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. fox trap</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Seungmin attends one of the first major league games of the season, where a shocking injury takes everyone by surprise.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry this is a little late, I've been painting my room all weekend!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hyunjin drives Seungmin back home in the early hours of the morning, long before the sun would even think about venturing up through the low suburban trees. It’s dark, so dark that if Seungmin didn’t know better, he’d think it was two or three AM. The neon signs and tall street lights of the highway burn bright through the sleepy darkness. The entire way there, Seungmin can feel the morning in his bones, the quiet gray-black sky and the early morning haze whispering through his brain and echoing through his body. </p><p>Hyunjin mostly keeps his eyes on the road. They don’t talk much. It’s a little awkward, but not awkward enough for Seungmin to wonder where they stand. </p><p>Once they reach Seungmin’s apartment, Hyunjin turns to him and asks, a little hesitantly, “Maybe we can meet up tomorrow then?”</p><p>Seungmin smiles. “Yeah.”</p><p>	Then he gets ready for practice. The entire bus ride to Miroh’s stadium, Seungmin can only think of this: Hyunjin’s head on his shoulder, the warmth of the other boy’s body, and the words, <em>Maybe we can meet up tomorrow?</em></p><p>	It’s then that he remembers that tomorrow, Wednesday, March 20, is Hyunjin’s birthday.</p><p> </p><p>Miroh’s practice ends at 11 AM that day. Somehow, Chris fits in what feels like twice as many drills as usual into their five-hour practice slot. By the end, even Seungmin’s feet are exhausted. His only consolation is that gratefully, the U-20 team doesn’t practice today, too. Instead, Tuesday evenings are left open, so that major league players that make up the U-20 team are free to compete in games. </p><p>	Miroh won’t play their first game until next week. Seungmin doesn’t pay much attention to other groups’ rosters, but he vaguely remembers seeing online that there’s a game scheduled for tonight. Something about the KQ Dolphins? </p><p>	After practice, Felix texts him.</p><p><em>Felix: hey you’re coming to the game, right?</em><br/>
Seungmin: uhh what game<br/>
Felix: uhh the dolphins play the tigers tonite. Sunwoo vs Hyunjin jisung and minho. it’s gonna be good</p><p> </p><p>Seungmin spends the rest of the afternoon in his apartment. He takes a long ice bath to ease the soreness in his tired muscles, then orders takeout from a Chinese restaurant nearby for lunch. As he waits for his food, mindlessly scrolling through Twitter, he briefly considers going to the mall to pick up a birthday present for Hyunjin. (Is that weird? That’s weird, right?) </p><p>Every time someone has a birthday, he and his U-20 friends buy them dinner at a local bar or cafe, and sometimes they don’t even do that much. He and Dahyun have a standing agreement not to buy each other presents as adults until they both can afford decent ones, and both of them are still broke, so they just send each other nice messages: Happy birthday! You’re my favorite sibling haha, or something like that. </p><p>The only time Seungmin ever buys birthday presents is for his parents’ birthdays. Oftentimes, the day of, he goes to a nearby bookstore and spends ten minutes in the nonfiction or memoir section. </p><p>Sometimes, Seungmin feels like buying a birthday present is like giving your heart away. In giving it, you involuntarily admit how much time you spend thinking about the person you’re giving it to. It’s too easy to offend: spend too little time and it looks like you don’t care; spend too much time on the wrong person and it just makes things awkward.</p><p>He’s too afraid of messing things up. So he doesn’t go to the mall. He doesn’t buy anything. </p><p>Maybe he’ll just pay for Hyunjin’s dinner or something. Without the guys; just them. <em>That’s good, right?</em></p><p> </p><p>Seungmin gets to the stadium barely thirty minutes before the start of the game. The bus stop is only a two or three minute walk from the nearest doors into the stadium. When he gets off the bus, he can see it in the distance, a shiny, dome-like mass of steel and titanium hulking over the brownstone and brick buildings that spread out in all directions. The late afternoon sun is just peeking out over the top, casting long shadows across the pavement and onto the street. </p><p>The chilled March air is three or four degrees cooler in the shadows of the stadium. Seungmin shivers in his thin polyester jacket, bunching his shoulders up high as he waits in line for the ticket booth. </p><p>When he gets to their seats, Jaemin and Felix are already there. Felix has his phone out between them. Both boys peer at the screen, arguing amongst themselves.</p><p>“-and Sunwoo has 2 assists,” Felix is saying. </p><p>“Yeah, but how does that matter if Hyunjin scores 1 or 2 goals a game? And besides, Jisung has 4 assists, so.”</p><p>Seungmin slides into his seat besides Felix. “You think the Dolphins can win?”</p><p>Felix hesitates, just long enough for Jaemin to snicker. </p><p>“I mean, they could…” the Aussie says evasively. “Their stats are getting better.” </p><p>“Just because they’re getting better doesn’t mean they can beat the top three soccer players under twenty-five in Korea,” Jaemin replies easily. “I mean, Mingi and Sunwoo are good, but they’re no Hyunjin and Minho.”</p><p>“And Jisung,” Felix adds, as if on reflex. Then he winces, clearly realizing he’s working against his own argument.</p><p>“Exactly!”</p><p>Felix ignores him. “But look at this!” He briefly shows Jaemin the screen.</p><p>Seungmin leans over Felix’s shoulder, curious. On the screen are the official club photos of both Jisung and Sunwoo, placed opposite each other. Their stats float below them: <em>Han Jisung (JYP Tigers, midfielder) vs Kim Sunwoo (KQ Dolphins, midfielder). 4 assists vs 2 assists; 1 goal vs 0 goals.</em> </p><p>It’s not impossible for the Dolphins to beat the Tigers, not if they all have stats like that - Seungmin will give that to Felix. But it’s also just not likely.</p><p>Seungmin cuts in. “I dunno, Sunwoo might give Jisung a run for his money.”</p><p>“Yeah, just long enough for Minho to beat his ass,” Jaemin says with feeling. </p><p> It’s then that Seungmin remembers that Jaemin has more than one reason to want to see Jisung face the music, so to speak. It’s only been about six days since he broke up with Mina, and it shows on his face.</p><p>There’s a beat. Seungmin suspects they’re all imagining rookie Sunwoo trying to out-maneuver Minho, who last year people kept saying would be the next Son Heung-min. Lightning Lee, the press calls him. He even has some fans, which is saying a lot considering he's still technically a rookie.</p><p>Suddenly, Felix groans. “Ah, fuck it. I guess you’re right. Whatever.” He pockets his phone. “Anyway. How was practice?” There’s a mischievous undertone to his smile. “I’ve been at the gym all day.”</p><p>“How-” Seungmin stops. “Oh, right. Lucky.” </p><p>The Australian major league soccer season coincides almost perfectly with the break between Korean seasons. While the rest of them juggle both international and major league practices, Felix only has to deal with three or so weeks of flights back and forth and then he’s essentially free for the season, only practicing 4 or 5 times a week. He never has to deal with double practice days. Sometimes, like today, he doesn’t even have single practice days.</p><p>“Shit, I forgot that your season is almost over,” Jaemin says. “When are the quarter-finals?”</p><p>Felix frowns for a second. “Uh, next Thursday, I think? I fly home Wednesday and then I’m back in Korea on Friday afternoon. It should be-” </p><p>All of a sudden, the crowd roars. Felix cuts off, his gaze going to the pitch. “Oh, they’re starting.”</p><p>They all turn to look. Seungmin searches the pitch for Hyunjin. </p><p>While they’ve been chatting, both teams have taken their spots on the pitch. Based on where Hyunjin’s standing, he’s starting the match today. He faces off in the dead center against the Dolphins, the ball only a few feet away. He’s frowning. His red Tigers jersey clings to his body, revealing the curves of his collarbones and the slim lines of his torso.</p><p> Hyunjin glances up at the crowd, his gaze difficult to parse. </p><p>Their eyes don’t meet. How could they? Seungmin sits in the middle of a crowd of almost seventeen thousand people. He knows what it feels like to look out at the crowd, faces too far away to catch features, only able to hear the rumbling murmur of several thousand conversations. </p><p>Their eyes don’t meet, but he wishes they would. He wishes they would.</p><p>Hyunjin pushes back his glossy black hair with one hand. His eyes glint in the fading evening light. He looks away, back at the pitch. </p><p>Handsome. But then, he’s always handsome.</p><p>Seungmin swallows. He feels his cheeks start to warm. He looks to his left, to see if his friends noticed his expression, but they’re both staring down at the field. Jaemin’s expression is neutral, almost bored, and Felix’s brow is furrowed. He peers down at the field; Seungmin figures he’s probably looking for Sunwoo.</p><p>The referee blows his whistle and the game starts. </p><p> </p><p>It’s about as rough as Seungmin might have expected. All of the Tigers are good, but the three international team members - and, to a lesser extent, the stony-faced midfielder, Seo Changbin - are a whirlwind of activity, the rest of their teammates apparently playing rougher to compensate. </p><p>Within the first ten minutes, an older player named Yugyeom that Seungmin recognizes from the U-23 team roster gets a yellow card for slamming the palm of his hand into a Dolphins’ defender’s face and giving him a bloody nose. Other “accidents” like that continue to happen, at least as far as Seungmin can tell - elbows to the gut, kicks to the knee - but Yugyeom is the only one that gets caught.</p><p>The Dolphins fight hard. Sunwoo and Mingi work tirelessly to keep the ball away from Hyunjin and the other forward on the Tigers, but it never seems to be enough. No matter how successfully Sunwoo balances his offensive and defensive roles, no matter how deftly Mingi, a former member of the U-20 team, moves the ball away from the goal box, the Tigers are always just that little bit faster. </p><p>Minho scores the first goal of the game just as the clock hits fifteen minutes until half-time. He’s sweating enough that Seungmin can see it from the stands, little rivulets trickling down both temples. </p><p>One or two teammates rush to give him bro-like claps on the back just as the crowd on the Tigers’ side of the stadium erupts into cheers. The metal seats rattle with the force of thousands of shoes pounding, thousands of voices singing, and don’t stop until the referee blows his whistle and both teams jog to their restart positions.</p><p>He glances over at his friends. Felix is smiling, staring out at the pitch, but Jaemin has a strange expression on his face. He’s playing mindlessly with his old silver ring, twisting it on and off his pointer finger, his brain clearly somewhere else.</p><p>Seungmin feels a flash of worry, but looks away just as he catches Jaemin starting to turn his head.</p><p>He looks out at the sea of fans and the pitch below them. Both teams have arranged into their positions. Hyunjin stands near the center. The Dolphins’ starter looks like he’s nearly vibrating with concentration. He glowers at Hyunjin, his gaze hard.</p><p>The referee blows his whistle. The starter takes a second to aim and then kicks it almost horizontally, directly to one of the waiting Dolphins midfielders. </p><p>Jisung and Changbin rocket forward. Changbin’s checked by an overly aggressive midfielder, but Jisung deftly maneuvers around the opposing team and captures the ball. </p><p>	“No,” Felix mutters. “Come on.”</p><p>	The angry-looking Dolphins starter does something painful-looking with his elbow, aimed at Jisung’s abdomen. He’s a man about twenty-five or twenty-six, with five-o'clock shadow and steely eyes. </p><p>	In Jisung’s millisecond of shock from the blow, a blue jerseyed Dolphin steals the ball out from behind him.</p><p>	Jisung, to his credit, barely even flinches. He pivots, trying to steal the ball back. He sticks out his leg. It connects just next to the ball, between the player’s feet. And he almost gets it, the way he always does, except something in his face changes from his usual aggressive concentration to something Seungmin thought he would never see. His eyes flicker in quick succession from shock to - is that pain?</p><p>	The Dolphins keep playing even as Jisung crumples, falling forward with so much force it’s like he’s lost the ability to stand up. Seungmin doesn’t hear the thump as he hits the grass, but he can see the jolt to his body, and that’s somehow worse. The crowd roars in sympathy. </p><p>	Seungmin barely hears someone nearby take a sharp breath over the buzzing of the crowd.</p><p>The referee blows his whistle and makes an obvious “pause” motion. It takes a few seconds for play to stop. The Dolphins’ striker pauses twenty or so feet from the Tigers’ goal, his brow furrowed like he’s annoyed. Both teams jog off the field and onto the sidelines.</p><p>	Meanwhile, Jisung clutches his knee, his back on the ground. His face is hard to watch. Despite their differences, Seungmin has to admit that there is something undeniably unsettling about seeing the controlling and aggressive Jisung utterly vulnerable, soundlessly screaming, his hands on his left knee.</p><p>	“Oh, no…” Seungmin hears someone groan from behind him. “Fuck, he’s our best midfielder.”</p><p>	“Dude, get up,” someone else says, sounding annoyed. “You’re fine.”</p><p>Two men in all-black performance clothing rush onto the field and converge on Jisung, their lips moving. It goes on for a while, long enough for the normally upbeat Tigers cheering section to dissolve into unhappy murmuring. </p><p>Suddenly, one of the men in black clothing walks to the side of the field and confers with the Tigers’ coach, a balding man with eyes as severe as a jaguar’s. Then, the coach turns to face the clump of players. His back is to Seungmin, but whatever he’s saying, the players’ faces are somber. </p><p>Seungmin spots Hyunjin near the back of the group. His expression is unreadable. Sweat rolls down his neck and starts to soaks into the fire-red collar of his jersey, but he doesn’t move to wipe it away.</p><p> </p><p>The next moment, a group of at least four or five men run on the field, holding a neon orange stretcher between them. <em>Oh, no,</em> Seungmin thinks.</p><p>The only reason they would call a stretcher is if a player couldn’t walk off the field of their own accord. Seungmin’s seen videos of it before, but it’s never happened in a game he’s played or attended.</p><p>“Oh, shit,” Felix says from beside him. He covers his mouth with his hands. “Wow.”</p><p>Seungmin exchanges a nervous look with Jaemin. </p><p>“If he can’t walk…?” Seungmin starts. </p><p>Jaemin just shakes his head. The setting sun has disappeared behind the stadium, and the tall steel sides cast dark shadows across his face. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. “But remember Heo Hyunjoon of TBZ Bulldogs?”</p><p>Seungmin did, but just barely. </p><p>“Mina-” Jaemin pauses. His eyes flicker with an emotion Seungmin doesn’t catch. “He was friends with my… ex. He tore both his ACL and meniscus last season in an accident and didn’t walk again for another two weeks. Turns out he’d torn his ACL before when he was fifteen. You’re not really supposed to let it happen twice. Needless to say, he won’t be playing ever again. Not even recreationally.”</p><p> Just the thought of it - of never playing again - makes Seungmin’s heart seize. No matter what his issues may be with Jisung, he would never wish that on him. He would never wish it on his worst enemy. </p><p>Never playing soccer again? His brain can’t even comprehend it. In order to make it this far, you had to dedicate your life to the sport. To make it this far, you usually sacrificed their youth just with the half-chance you might make it big. There were no parties, no lazy sleepovers with friends, no binging on pizza and candy on Friday nights at your friend’s house, absolutely no senior dances. There was practice, and games, and a strict diet, and there was your group of half-friends from soccer and your group of half-friends from school. </p><p>Sure, you hung out with them sometimes. Maybe you rebelled, drank alcohol late into the night, smoked weed between practices, told yourself it wouldn’t matter in the long run. But there was always that thought in the back of your brain if you did: while you were wasting time, another kid out there exactly like you was running drills, watching plays, getting better. While you slacked off, there was always someone else working tirelessly, someone that would take your spot on X major league team or Y international squad. </p><p>So lots of kids didn’t slack off. They devoted years and years of their lives to this beautiful, impossibly difficult sport. And often - often but not always - those were the kids that got the contracts when they were seventeen or eighteen.</p><p>Seungmin can’t imagine what might happen if Jisung’s injury is even remotely lasting. How do you reconcile nineteen years of lost youth with the idea that you’ll never stand on a field again?</p><p>Jisung disappears off the field in the neon orange stretcher, his teammates frowning after him. They start up the game again, but Seungmin can’t help but feel a little uneasy. </p><p>In the end, the Tigers win 2-0. The team celebrates, pounding each other on the back, but their smiles look less cheery than usual. </p><p>Jisung may not be the most popular person in the world, but even Seungmin has to admit that it’s hard to look at an apparently blameless accident like that and not think, <em>that could have been me.</em></p><p>	“Hey, I’m going to get a drink with some of the Neo guys after this, you should come,” Jaemin says. </p><p>Felix sighs. “I can’t. I’m meeting someone after this." Just then, his phone beeps. He looks at it and his eyes widen. “Fuck, I’m late. See you guys later.”</p><p>They murmur goodbyes, and Felix disappears into the sea of fans walking up the bleachers to the exit. </p><p>	Jaemin looks at Seungmin expectantly. "What about you?"</p><p>Before Seungmin can reply, his phone dings. </p><p>
  <em>Han Jisung: I have something to say to you</em>
</p><p>He looks up at Jaemin. "I..."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. salt and spice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Seungmin visits Jisung in the hospital. Later the next day, he meets up with Hyunjin for the latter's 20th birthday.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After getting the information for the hospital where Jisung is staying from Hyunjin, he takes the bus line south, past the downtown area and closer to the highway. The massive metal building looms over the empty streets below.</p>
<p>	He follows an elderly woman with white cotton candy hair off the bus. Between his departure from the stadium and his arrival, it’s grown properly dark: the bright lights of the hospital burn through the blackness. The steel overhead lights don’t quite illuminate the entire sidewalk surrounding the hospital, turning bumpy, blind-accessible sidewalks into surprises.</p>
<p> It takes Seungmin another five or six minutes to even reach the doors to the right entrance. When he does, he checks in at the front desk as a visitor. He’s directed to the waiting room, where the large TV screen above the secretary’s desk announces that patient 1517, HAN J.., is in the middle of an x-ray.</p>
<p>His phone dings, loud enough that a balding man sitting across from him shoots him a disapproving frown. He fishes it out of his pocket to check it.</p>
<p><em>Hyunjin: you want to get dinner tomorrow?</em><br/>
Seungmin smiles. <em>Yeah, definitely,</em> he types back. <em>I’ll pay.</em></p>
<p>The waiting room outside urgent care is almost otherworldly in it’s strangeness. Seungmin has to take a second to adjust his schema of waiting rooms; he’s used to his primary care office. At least there, he could count on ugly multicolored carpeting and cheap fabric seats and four-year-old magazines thrown haphazardly on side tables. People waiting always seem more bored than stressed. </p>
<p>Here, it’s almost stark in its bareness: blue plastic seats, white tile floors, white walls. Scratched wood side tables sit with nothing on them. In the corner of the room, a middle-aged woman confers anxiously with a haggard-looking secretary. A baby wails from down the hallway but somehow never appears. He feels very out of place: a random nineteen-year-old boy surrounded by worried families.</p>
<p>Seungmin’s almost grateful when, thirty minutes later, they call his name to go visit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I figured you wouldn’t show up,” Jisung says the moment Seungmin appears. He’s dressed in a blue medical gown, his knees exposed to the air. One knee is gray-blue and swollen past his joints. </p>
<p>Seungmin quickly looks away. He sits down in a plastic seat against the far wall, then asks, “What did you want to talk about?”</p>
<p>Jisung shrugs. “Oh, I don’t know. This and that.” His voice is nonchalant, but his eyes are hard. He looks at Seungmin for a long moment. Then: “You’re not broken enough, I think.” His expression is hard, but for a half-second, his eyes tighten around the edges and he reaches for his knee in an unconscious motion.</p>
<p>“For what?” Seungmin replies. He feels his stomach turn. <em> Fuck, this is going to be about Hyunjin, isn’t it? Please don’t be about Hyunjin.</em></p>
<p>Jisung raises his eyebrows, as if to say, told you so. “You guys have sex yet?” He asks casually. </p>
<p><em>Fuck, he is talking about Hyunjin.</em> Seungmin’s face grows hot. He shifts in his seat. “I…” </p>
<p>Jisung looks at him and laughs. “You don’t have to finish that thought. I already know the answer.” He pauses. “To be honest, I didn’t think you were his type. He usually likes guys that are a little more… bold?”</p>
<p>An ugly feeling starts to simmer in his gut. Seungmin doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything.</p>
<p>“Did you know Hyunjin’s got trust issues?” Jisung continues, his tone still casual, like they’re friends. “It might be hard to figure it out when you’re not close. But he doesn’t tell you <em>jack shit,</em> right?”</p>
<p>“What do you want?” Seungmin asks quietly. </p>
<p>“To help,” Jisung says, his voice earnest, his eyes dancing. “Hyunjin hasn’t told you about his mom, right?”</p>
<p>When Seungmin doesn’t respond immediately, Jisung laughs again. “Oh, right, I forgot. He wouldn’t. Not with someone like you. I bet he doesn’t tell you jack shit.”</p>
<p>Seungmin can’t seem to find his voice. It’s like it disappeared down his trachea, hiding from whatever morphed half-truths Jisung is telling him. </p>
<p>“But you know what’s funny?” Jisung asks quietly, leaning forward. “He was perfectly fine with telling me everything. I guess he just trusts me, you know. We fit. Did you know she gave him alcohol when he was fourteen? He spent nearly two weeks in rehab his senior year. He told me that the first week we were together.” He pauses, then smirks. “Did you know he’s a crier when he gets drunk?”</p>
<p>And that’s when Seungmin has enough. His voice returns, albeit audibly shaky. “Stop.”</p>
<p>Jisung shrugs. “Fine. I won’t tell you. But at least I know her name. Hwang Jiyoung.” </p>
<p>Jisung stares into his eyes. It reminds Seungmin of Changbin’s gaze, like he’s a dying butterfly pinned to a wall. It’s an ugly feeling, boiling in his gut and eroding at his voice.</p>
<p>“He’ll never love you,” Jisung whispers. Something shutters behind his eyes. And there’s something about that voice, about disparity between the heat in Jisung’s voice and that blank, strange look in his eyes that makes all the unpleasantness go away at once. Then he grimaces, as if in pain, and the look abruptly goes away.</p>
<p>Seungmin doesn’t quite recognize that look, exactly. But it doesn’t take long to figure it out.</p>
<p>What had Hyunjin said, that day he confessed? <em>You sound like Jisung. He was always convinced no one will ever love him.</em> </p>
<p>When he looks down at his hands, they’re shaking, but not from fear or anxiety. It takes him a second to recognize that boiling feeling in his heart as anger. </p>
<p> “What is <em>wrong</em> with you?”</p>
<p>Whatever Jisung was expecting, it wasn’t that. He blinks. “What?” </p>
<p>“Just… enough. Stop trying to sabotage fucking everything. Just stop. I’m not going to listen to you. I don’t care who his mom is. That’s his business. And also… see a therapist. Please.”</p>
<p>Jisung laughs low in his throat. “Like it isn’t too late. You’ve already heard what I’ve said, Min.”</p>
<p>Seungmin knows intellectually that Jisung is using his nickname to purposely upset him, maybe to manipulate him into feeling like they’re closer than they are. But hearing it out of the other boy’s mouth still boils his blood. </p>
<p>All of a sudden, he has an upsetting thought. It almost completely derails his anger. Before he can stop himself, he asks incredulously,  “Wait, were you like this with Hyunjin <em>all the time?”</em></p>
<p>Jisung frowns. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Like… doing this?” Seungmin gestures between them. “This shit? Trying to make him second-guess himself?”</p>
<p>He shrugs. “So what if I was?”</p>
<p>There is so much wrong with that sentence that Seungmin has to take a second to process. “Do you do this with Changbin, too? And Mina?”</p>
<p>“Why don’t you just shut the fuck up?” Jisung’s voice is bitter acid. </p>
<p>“Fine,” Seungmin replies, without rancor. He feels abruptly tired. </p>
<p>Jisung stares down at the white hospital blanket, his eyes simmering. Seungmin watches as his hair falls into his eyes in slow motion. It’s messy and unbrushed-looking, likely from contact with the grass a while ago.</p>
<p> They sit in silence for a few moments. The tension is so thick, it feels like Seungmin could reach out and touch it with his fingers.</p>
<p>All of a sudden, Jisung takes a startled breath. His eyes tighten around the edges, and leans back against his pillow.</p>
<p> “Ah… fuck,” he says lowly. He stares up at the ceiling. “How long do meds take to kick in, like thirty minutes?”</p>
<p>It takes Seungmin a moment to realize that Jisung’s talking to him. “Uh, did they give you narcotics?”</p>
<p>“They can’t,” Jisung says. He winces. “They gave me aceto… acet…”</p>
<p>Seungmin doesn’t fully realize how much pain Jisung must be in until he hears him stumble over the name of a standard over-the-counter painkiller, something he knows almost for a fact that as a professional soccer player with frequent muscle soreness, Jisung can easily say and remember on any normal day. </p>
<p>“Acetaminophen?” Seungmin finishes for him. “When?”</p>
<p>“Like... an hour ago?”</p>
<p>“Then it’s already kicked in.” Seungmin pauses. “Uh, why can’t they give you narcotics?”</p>
<p>“I bet you’d like to know,” Jisung says. He’s clearly trying to be wry but he ends up sounding more breathless than bitter. “I didn’t mean to mention it.”</p>
<p>There’s a long moment. Seungmin notices the deep, dark circle under Jisung’s eyes. Sweat beads at his temples. His skin has a strange pale pallor to it, like he’s losing oxygen from breathing too fast. </p>
<p>Seungmin bites his lip. “Uh, how’d you meet Hyunjin?” To be fair, he is curious, but it’s more to distract Jisung from his pain than to satisfy that curiosity.</p>
<p>“I know you’re trying to distract me,” Jisung says through a gasp.</p>
<p>“How’d you meet Hyunjin?” Seungmin repeats.</p>
<p>There’s a beat. </p>
<p>“In a fucking psych ward,” Jisung replies. “There? Are you happy?” </p>
<p>Oh. </p>
<p>“Is that why you can’t have…” Seungmin can’t finish the statement. <em>Is that why you can’t have narcotics?</em></p>
<p>Jisung’s eyes widen fractionally. “Dude, stop jumping…” He takes a staggered breath. “...to conclusions. I’m allergic to hydrocodone. It’s all they have right now.”</p>
<p><em>Hydrocodone must be a narcotic.</em> Seungmin can’t decide if he’s relieved that his U-20 teammate isn’t a recovering drug addict or even more confused about the possible reason Jisung was in a psych ward. “Why?” He asks carefully, before he can stop himself.</p>
<p>Jisung frowns. “What do you mean, why?”</p>
<p>“Why in a psych ward?”</p>
<p>“Have you met Hyunjin?” Jisung replies incredulously. “How do you not know?”</p>
<p>“No, I meant…” Seungmin starts to say you, but then realizes the potentially invasiveness of that comment. He lets himself trail off, feels his cheeks warm.</p>
<p>Fortunately, Jisung seems not to notice. Seungmin watches nervously as sweat continues to bead on the other boy’s temple, still as a statue. It’s like he thinks if he doesn’t move, his leg will heal itself. Or maybe he’s just in too much pain to do anything but stare into space.</p>
<p>“Uh, should I call a nurse, or…” Seungmin’s voice is hesitant. </p>
<p>“No, I’m fine,” Jisung insists. </p>
<p>“You sound fine.”</p>
<p>Jisung gives him a look, clearly catching his sarcasm. “If you don’t like it, then fucking leave. I said what I wanted to. You say you don’t care. We’re done.”</p>
<p>Seungmin stands up. He pockets his phone and turns to the door. Before he leaves, he turns. Jisung stares back at him, his eyes complicated, looking all of a sudden both small and very, very alone. It doesn’t seem right to leave him alone in a hospital, so he asks, “Is anyone else coming?”</p>
<p>Jisung rolls his eyes. “You just missed him.”</p>
<p>Seungmin frowns. “Who?” He’d been the only one between the ages of fifteen and forty in the waiting room.  </p>
<p>“Funny how bad things come in threes, you know,” Jisung says enigmatically. When Seungmin raises his eyebrows at him, he doesn’t clarify. </p>
<p><em>Talking to Jisung is… beyond frustrating.</em> “I know you don’t want to hear this from me,” Seungmin starts. “But I really think you should see someone. Like a therapist. I think… I think you might find that you don’t need to try to destroy other people to feel better. And that the only person you’re really hurting is yourself.”</p>
<p>“I fucking tried that,” Jisung says. His eyes glitter. “Ask Hyunjin how well that turned out.”</p>
<p>“How about I ask you?” Seungmin asks, feeling brave.</p>
<p>“I think you’d learn a lot more if you asked your friend,” Jisung says, sounding almost amused. </p>
<p>“Uh, what?’</p>
<p>“The one in love with Changbin?”</p>
<p>
  <em>“What?”</em>
</p>
<p>“Felix,” Jisung says. “The Aussie? Short as fuck? Attached at the hip to our second-best midfielder?”</p>
<p>“Stop playing games,” Seungmin growls. “I’m leaving.”</p>
<p>For the first time today, Jisung looks genuinely taken aback. “You didn’t know?” He frowns to himself. “You’re telling me you haven’t wondered why Felix spends U-20 practices chatting up Changbin’s best friend?”</p>
<p>Seungmin is speechless. “Who?” He manages.</p>
<p>“Sunwoo,” Jisung says. “Dragon tattoo boy. Why did you think Felix has been so mad at me? It’s because he hates that I fucked Changbin.” Something in his eyes flickers, too quick to catch. </p>
<p>Seungmin feels like he’s stepped into an alternate dimension. “Wait, <em>what?</em> What do you mean, dragon tattoo boy?” There’s so much more that he wants to ask, but he stops himself from releasing the barrage of questions. <em>Like the boy at the bar back in October?</em> He wants to ask. <em>The one Hyunjin told everyone was a girl so you could save face? The one you told everyone about having sex with while you and Changbin felt each other up under the table? Isn’t Changbin that boy?</em></p>
<p>Jisung laughs. “Oh, right, I forgot you wouldn’t know. Yeah, Sunwoo has this fucking massive tattoo of a Japanese dragon. It’s really hot.”</p>
<p>“I thought <em>Changbin</em> had a dragon tattoo on his chest,” Seungmin says carefully. To be fair, he never actually confirmed it. He just assumed, given the death grip Changbin had on Jisung’s torso.</p>
<p>Jisung stares at him, his eyes still tight with pain. “Where the fuck did you get that idea? He has this fancy guitar made out of trees and shit.” </p>
<p>Seungmin’s head is spinning. “But that doesn’t make any sense, you had a thing with Changbin-”</p>
<p>Jisung stills. “No,” he says. There’s a strange undercurrent to his words. “We did hook up once, but that was a really long time ago. Sunwoo was a separate thing, to try to make him jealous. Not that it worked.”</p>
<p>“But that day at the bar-”</p>
<p>“I thought things were going to change,” Jisung says harshly. “We’d talked. After, he was being- I thought he was finally into me. I’d done <em>everything</em> to get him. We were supposed to-” He breaks off. There’s a flash of pain in his eyes, and Seungmin’s isn’t sure if he should attribute it to Jisung’s knee or something else. “-I don’t know, hang out that weekend. I was going to end things with Hyunjin that night. And then Changbin met Felix, and everything changed.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”</p>
<p>“Sunwoo has the dragon tattoo?” Seungmin repeats. He can’t quite grasp that fact. <em>“You had sex with Sunwoo?”</em></p>
<p>“Yes,” Jisung replies, sounding annoyed. “Catch up.”</p>
<p>Seungmin takes a deep breath. He takes a moment, then another moment. He puts his head in his hands and doesn’t take it out for a long while. </p>
<p>All of this, just to catch the attention of a boy? All of the hurt, all of the manipulation, everything Jisung had done in the last two or three years, just to make Seo Changbin jealous? Clearly, Jisung had become way more invested in Hyunjin than the others, but that didn’t make it okay. Just because they’d created a semblance of a relationship didn’t make the fact that Jisung was using Hyunjin any more palatable.</p>
<p>It reminded Seungmin of something he’d seen in a drama once: there were people that would do anything, go through anything to chase after love, and there were people who would not. People tended to think they were the former until they considered the full breadth of that promise. After all, anything meant <em>anything.</em> It could mean experiencing suffering inflicted by uncontrollable circumstances, the kind people tended to think of immediately- hunger, sickness, unfair laws. But it could also be like this: hurting others. <em>Taking</em> from others, all for the half-promise of potential love.</p>
<p>Seungmin always liked to think he was a <em>chase</em> person. There was a sort of inherent romance to it, the kind encouraged by popular media: comings and goings, tension and heartbreak. But in moments like these, he remembers he’s not. If Jisung wanted Hyunjin, if they wanted each other, Seungmin’s not sure he could stand between them with a steady heart. </p>
<p>He would walk after love. He might even run. But he would never <em>chase.</em> People were not prey. Seungmin was not a lion. Sometimes, you had to let people go.</p>
<p> Jisung is a clearly a <em>chase</em> person. But look where it had gotten him. Look at all the people he’d hurt in the process.</p>
<p>Eventually, when the silence grows thin with awkwardness, Seungmin clears his throat. “Um, so, first of all, <em>assuming I believe you,</em> do you know how they met? Felix and Changbin, I mean.”</p>
<p>Jisung shakes his head. He runs a hand through his messy hair. “No. And honestly, I don’t give a shit. All that matters is that they’re together.”</p>
<p>There’s another silence. Seungmin uses the time to pull his phone out of his pocket. He checks the time: 9:40 PM. He takes a startled breath.</p>
<p>“I have to go,” Seungmin says hesitantly.</p>
<p>“Good.” </p>
<p>Just before he reaches the door, Seungmin pauses. “Hey, uh, Jisung.” He turns around to face the boy in the hospital bed. “Do you love him?”</p>
<p>Jisung’s hand floats above his bloated, blue-gray knee, like he’s afraid to touch it. He looks up. “Which one?” </p>
<p>“Changbin.”</p>
<p>There’s a long pause, so long Seungmin thinks Jisung is never going to answer him. And then abruptly, twice as loud as he expected, he hears:</p>
<p>“Do you think I would have fucked with Hyunjin if I didn’t? He’s- he’s a good guy.” Seungmin senses that there’s a second half to that sentence, one that even Jisung is hesitant to say out loud: He’s a good guy, but I love Changbin too much to care.</p>
<p>An ice chip pierces Seungmin’s heart. Somehow, hearing Jisung acknowledge it loud - that he used Hyunjin - is so much worse than hearing him imply it. <em>Love,</em> he wants to scoff. <em>Like that’s love.</em> But he doesn’t. He knows what Jisung would say: <em>How would you know what love is?</em></p>
<p>Something aches in his chest. His phone dings, but he doesn’t reach to check it. </p>
<p><em>Like that’s love,</em> his brain echoes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seungmin spends the next day trying to forget what Jisung told him. The secret eats away at him like a tiny maw slowly devouring his insides. He’s never seen Felix and Changbin in the same room, so he satisfies his confusion by replaying all his recent memories of Felix in his brain. His friend did seem to have an inside joke with Sunwoo - they shared a lot of knowing glances - but he’d brushed that off as a normal friendship thing. Nothing else sticks out in his mind. </p>
<p>At one point, he wonders, <em>Does Felix not trust me with his secrets?</em> But then he remembers how long it took Hyunjin to tell him about his struggle with alcoholism. Sometimes, it’s less about not trusting others and more about not trusting yourself. </p>
<p>At the U-20 practice on Wednesday night, he’s so awkward around Felix that his Jaemin pulls him aside and asks if there’s something wrong. Seungmin wants to tell him the truth, but he respects Felix’s privacy too much to share it. So he just says he’s not feeling well and leaves it at that.</p>
<p>At the end of practice, Coach Park announces Jisung’s official diagnosis: a partially torn ACL and an estimated recovery time of six to eight months. The coach doesn’t say it, but years of stories of torn ACLs do it for him: he might be back in eight months- if he ever plays again. </p>
<p>As the rest of the team takes a moment to process, Sunwoo’s smooth baritone floats from the back of the group: “What does that mean for us?”</p>
<p>Coach Park shrugs.  “You midfielders will have to pull more weight that you’re used to, but we’ll pull through.” He claps his hands. “Anyway. Nice hustle today. Coach Lim and I are thinking of running a mock game tomorrow, so make sure to bring your “A” game.”</p>
<p>The team murmurs its assent, and then the twenty-five or so players of the U-20 team, Seungmin included, head to the locker room. He sees Hyunjin’s dark head up ahead of him, but doesn’t move to grab his attention. His heart starts to pound.</p>
<p>Jaemin catches his eye from beside him. “You okay?”</p>
<p>Seungmin nods. “Yeah,” he replies quickly. “Yeah, definitely.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he steps off the bus, the restaurant stands in front of him, light filtering out from the glass door and into the dark of the evening. The door swings open for a waiter holding a coal pan. The smell of cooked meat wafts out, making Seungmin’s stomach grumble. </p>
<p>A chill wind whips past, blowing through his hair and ruffling his jacket. He stuffs his hands deeper in his pockets and hurries inside.</p>
<p>It doesn’t take him long to find Hyunjin. The boy sits at a table by the window, his black puffy coat hanging off the back of his wooden chair. He’s wearing a short sleeve shirt, a silver cross necklace peeking out around the edges of the low v-neck collar. He looks down at his phone, his glossy black hair cascading across his face and hiding his expression from view. </p>
<p>Adrenaline races through his veins. Quickly, he slides into the chair across from him. “Sorry I’m late, the bus was delayed.”</p>
<p>Hyunjin looks up quickly. Their eyes meet. His phone disappears into his pocket. “Don’t worry about it.”</p>
<p>“Uh, happy birthday, by the way,” Seungmin adds. He takes off his jacket and hangs it across the back of the chair.</p>
<p>“Thanks.” He can hear the smile in Hyunjin’s voice. When he turns around, the boy says, “You’re actually the first one to remember.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Most of Seungmin is listening. How is he the first person to wish Hyunjin a happy birthday? A tiny part of him, though, is busy trying to figure out what to do with his hands. He settles for resting his elbows on the table, but can’t help but feel awkward about it.</p>
<p>Hyunjin shrugs. “Well, besides my aunt, but she doesn’t really count. What do you want to order?”</p>
<p>	“Uh...” He brushes one hand against the other and realizes they’re sweating. <em>Fuck.</em> His adrenaline, already high, spikes.</p>
<p>Hyunjin meets his eyes. Almost immediately, his expression changes to something not unlike understanding. “Hey, actually, I’m not really in the mood for barbecue. Do you want to go get street food or something?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They go get street food.</p>
<p>“You could have just told me you were nervous,” Hyunjin tells him as they wait in line at a takoyaki stall. He’s holding an order of cheese pancakes in one hand, his fingers pale with cold. He looks like he’s trying not to smile, his lips curling up occasionally. Seungmin appreciates the effort, though it does make him feel a little silly. </p>
<p>Seungmin shrugs. His cheeks are burning despite the chill March air. A large part of him wants to hide in his jacket. Or, at the very least, to not be having this conversation. He forces himself to speak. “I didn’t want to… I don’t know. It’s kind of embarrassing to tell someone you’ve never dated before.”</p>
<p>Hyunjin looks at him for a long moment. “You mean me. It’s embarrassing for you to tell <em>me.</em>” He frowns. “Why, because of Jisung?”</p>
<p>Seungmin bites his lip and looks away. <em>Maybe?</em> He thinks but doesn’t say. <em>Probably? Yes?</em> Then it occurs to him that his silence might seem like jealousy, but by then it's too late to say anything.</p>
<p>The lady making the takoyaki motions them forward, and they have to put their conversation on hold for a few minutes. Seungmin’s aware of Hyunjin’s presence even when he’s not looking at him. </p>
<p>Once they’ve gotten the takoyaki, they start walking to the nearby park. Hyunjin doesn’t speak. Seungmin can’t tell what he’s thinking. </p>
<p>The park is gratefully empty in March on a weekday night. The trees flutter above them in the breeze, mere shadows with the dark of the evening. Seungmin passes him a takoyaki without speaking. </p>
<p>Eventually, once the silence gets too much for him, he says, “Look, it’s not because of Jisung.”</p>
<p>Hyunjin stops. His expression is difficult to read. “Really?”</p>
<p>“I don’t- it’s not like I’m jealous of him or anything. It’s… I’ve never done this before. And you have, so I guess- well, I don’t know,” he says again, feeling flustered. “Like, I don’t know when people do things and like, what people expect.” </p>
<p>“You mean sex.” It’s not really a question. </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Seungmin admits. </p>
<p>Hyunjin stops walking. “I think I should explain,” he says carefully. “Jisung and I weren’t really in a relationship? We were more like friends with benefits, if you want to call it that. We didn’t go on dates, or see each other's families, or any of that. We just hung out at each other’s apartments and had sex. This is different. I don’t-” He pauses. His cheeks are a little red. “I promise you, there are no expectations. You want to go slow, we’ll go slow.”</p>
<p>That strange, anxious feeling in Seungmin’s stomach suddenly releases. He takes a breath. “Okay.”</p>
<p>Hyunjin’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “So just tell me,” he says quietly. “We’ll only do things when you’re ready.”</p>
<p>Seungmin’s heart skips. “Okay,” he says again. He feels… he doesn’t know how he feels. He looks quickly at Hyunjin. Then, before he can lose his nerve, he asks breathlessly, “Can I kiss you?”</p>
<p>Hyunjin’s eyes search Seungmin’s face. His hand brushes Seungmin’s cheek, reaches behind his neck. Then, wordlessly, he pulls him in, and <em>oh.</em></p>
<p>Seungmin reaches behind the other boy’s neck, brushes the sharp edge of his coat and burns with the heat of his skin. Hyunjin’s lips press softly against his own. He tastes of salt and spice; Seungmin remembers the takoyaki in one of his hands, and quietly lets it drop to the bench behind him. He reaches up with his now-free hand to tangle it in Hyunjin’s hair. Hyunjin lets out a little breath, and Seungmin feels something spike in his gut.</p>
<p>This close, the smell of Hyunjin’s sandalwood cologne clings to the boy’s skin, turning Seungmin’s brain hazy with the heady, earthy smell. His lips tingle, and he can’t tell if it’s because of the kiss or because of the spicy sauce on the takoyaki. </p>
<p>When they pull apart, Hyunjin’s cheeks are flushed. His chest rises and falls, rises and falls. “Was that okay?” He asks. His voice is hesitant. </p>
<p>Seungmin understands what he means: Are you okay? “Yeah,” he says, smiling despite himself. “Yeah, definitely.”</p>
<p>Hyunjin smiles broadly. “Cool.” He pulls himself away, then links their fingers together. He bumps against Seungmin’s shoulder playfully. “You wanna keep walking?”</p>
<p>Seungmin grabs the takoyaki off the bench with his free hand. He feels almost giddy. “Let’s go.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. all falls away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The U-20 team plays their first  game in the preliminaries for the FIFA World Cup.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On Tuesday, Miroh scores an easy 3-0 victory against the Changwon Knights for their first game of the season. Miroh’s good enough that it’s not surprising, per se, but it bodes well for the matches in the coming months anyway. Coach Lim pushes them harder than ever, seemingly tantalized by the prospect of further victories. Any teammate that mentions potentially reaching beyond the final eight in the major league this year is quickly shushed by the others for fear of tempting fate. For the second time in as many months, Seungmin starts to wonder if that feeling he had last year - the feeling that <em>this year, this year things will be different </em>- was actually true.</p>
<p>With that, March slides effortlessly into April. It brings with it the near-constant cloud cover of early spring in Seoul. The temperature begins to rise steadily, the chill air of winter receding from the hidden corners and airways in Seungmin’s apartment. For the first time since the new year, he goes to bed without feeling like his toes are about to freeze off his feet. </p>
<p>Not long after that, U-20 has its first practice of the season with most of the players wearing short sleeves, rather than the long-sleeved jerseys they’ve been wearing for the last month and a half or so. Miroh follows suit a day later. Tiny green buds even spring up on the old, tired branches of the tree outside his bedroom window.  </p>
<p>Seungmin sees Hyunjin twice in those two weeks between Hyunjin’s birthday and the second week of April. Both times, they walk around Hongdae, eating street food or stopping at a convenience store for ramen. They kiss a few times, but never more than that. Hyunjin doesn’t invite him back to his place, perhaps mindful of Seungmin’s residual nervousness. And Seungmin can’t quite gather up enough courage to invite him over, either.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s April fourth, a Thursday morning. He wakes with the sunlight in the wrong place. </p>
<p>Or, rather: for the first time in several years, he’s awoken by the bright burst of sunbeams. They trickle in through the apartment window, turning the blanket into a wash of brilliant, boxy stripes. </p>
<p>Seungmin frowns. But that doesn’t make sense, because the only window in his bedroom is about thirty feet away from the neighboring apartment complex, between which is a rather large oak tree. The foliage and mass of brick and stone combined usually make it so only weak, dappled light can make it through the panes. Never enough to wake him. </p>
<p>He sits up. Later, he’ll be struck by the <em>weirdness</em> of the room: like someone took all the main features of his bedroom, put them in a box, and shook them up a little. There’s a bedside table, but it’s round instead of square. The same empty water glass lays across the top, the way it has for days now. The door is slightly ajar, enough that he can see the sliver of the room beyond. He sees the edge of a blue couch. He has an eyeline directly to the doorway, and a faint memory jogs at the edge of his brain. </p>
<p>Later, the strangeness of that will be too obvious. At home, he has to take a sharp left turn to exit, rather than walking straight from the bedroom to the door. And his sofa is ratty gray, not blue.</p>
<p>The sheets shift, just enough that Seungmin almost doesn’t notice it. Then, a very familiar voice, rough and low with the remains of sleep: “Min?”</p>
<p>Seungmin’s heart does a funny skipping thing in his chest. He turns his head. </p>
<p>And Hyunjin is there, his head propped up by his hand, a soft blush painted across his cheeks. “Hey,” he says. The blanket is pulled down to his navel, revealing a vast expanse of skin. </p>
<p>“Hey.”</p>
<p>Hyunjin looks at him for a long moment. His gaze lingers on Seungmin’s abdomen. “You know, I forgot you worked out,” he says, almost smirking. “It’s hot.” He’s blushing, too, though, darker than before. He shifts his weight, and his collarbones move.</p>
<p>Something pulls in Seungmin’s gut. He reaches over and touches Hyunjin’s wrist where it holds up his head. He meets Hyunjin’s eyes - <em>Is this okay? Tell me if this is okay</em> - and when Hyunjin nods, he slides his hand to the side of Hyunjin’s head and pulls himself down to meet him. </p>
<p>Almost immediately, Hyunjin slides his hand across Seungmin’s back. His touch sends shivers like tiny sparks down his spine. Hyunjin’s mouth opens against his, and Seungmin makes an inelegant noise. His hair is as soft as silk.</p>
<p>It’s a long moment before they pull away. When they do, Hyunjin stares up at him, breathing hard. His hair is mussed, and Seungmin reaches out to touch it. Hyunjin relaxes against his touch, then kisses Seungmin’s hand as it comes down to trace his cheek. </p>
<p>“I don’t think I say this enough,” Hyunjin begins, still out of breath. He brushes his fingers along Seungmin’s jawline, then pulls him in for a quick kiss. His other hand trails along Seungmin’s stomach; he feels his body burn. </p>
<p>“But I love you,” Hyunjin finishes. </p>
<p>And it’s this, those words, that pulls him out of the thick of the haze. Instead of pleasure, he feels an intense <em>wrongness.</em> He doesn’t understand. They aren’t- they don’t-</p>
<p>He catches the edge of a memory. His brain is just clear enough to hold on to it. His heart sinks, fast as a rock.</p>
<p>“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Seungmin says hoarsely. </p>
<p>Hyunjin gives him a long look. “Of course you are,” he replies. “Haven’t we been here before?” </p>
<p>And of course. The morning, the sunlight, the white sheets, Hyunjin, those words - it’s his dream, the one that he can’t stop having. The real him is asleep in his apartment. Alone.</p>
<p>How had he not realized it before? Dream Hyunjin is so much softer than the real one. Gone are his sharp edges, the things that make his expression complicate and quiet. Dream Hyunjin is too honest. </p>
<p>Seungmin feels his toes. Not in the dream, but in reality, cold under the empty sheets. He’s waking up. Despite the wrongness, he doesn't want to.</p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, shit. Not yet-</em>
</p>
<p>“Jin,” he says desperately. He feels himself waking, his brain slowly becoming aware of his sleeping body at home. “Hyunjin-” </p>
<p>They crash together like flames. Hyunjin tastes like sunlight, like home. He kisses Hyunjin’s lips, then his neck, then the curve of his shoulder. Hyunjin gasps and all Seungmin can think is <em>this, this is it</em> -</p>
<p>And then he wakes. He feels sweat pasting his shirt to his back, sticky and gross. He swallows thickly. <em>I will not cry.</em></p>
<p>His heart aches, but the rest of his body doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo.When the buzzing, exhilarated feeling finally leaves his body, he reaches over to grab his phone. 5:04 AM. On his home screen is a text from Felix, dated four hours ago: <em>the dolphins lost btw, stay out of sunwoo's way tomorrow lol.</em></p>
<p><em>Okay, thanks lmao</em> he types back. </p>
<p>The clock turns to 5:05. On cue, his alarm kicks in. </p>
<p>Seungmin sighs. He sits up, the sheets rustling with the movement, then texts Hyunjin: <em>the game is at 6, right?</em></p>
<p>The Korean under-20s team have their first FIFA World Cup preliminary game of the season tonight against Cambodia. </p>
<p>There’s a beat. Then:</p>
<p>
  <em>Hyunjin: oh fuck I forgot about that<br/>Hyunjin: I can drive you, if you’d like?</em>
</p>
<p>Seungmin smiles. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hyunjin picks him up just shy of 4:30 PM, a good thirty minutes before they’re expected at the field. Seungmin watches out his third-story living room window as a black car, partially obscured by fog, rolls into the parking lot. The headlights burn through the mist, illuminating the droplets in two perfect white beams. </p>
<p>Seungmin glances up at the sky. It’s dark, the clouds making strange shapes as rain clouds roll in. <em>Hopefully, it’s not like this over Olympic Stadium.</em> Grass is easily made slippery with rain, and the last thing the team needs to worry about is the possibility of another injury.</p>
<p>Seungmin feels his phone buzz in his hand. He glances down at the text, then heads towards the door, grabbing his soccer bag off the dining table as he does. Adrenaline, cold as ice, rushes through his veins. He can’t tell if it’s because the prelims are in less than two hours or because he’s meeting Hyunjin. Maybe both?</p>
<p>When he walks out to the parking lot, the air is thick and humid with the promise of rain. The hood of Hyunjin’s BMW is dotted with water droplets. When Seungmin grabs the handle of the passenger side door, his hand comes away wet.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Seungmin says as he slides into the seat. He pulls the door shut with a soft thud. Like always, Hyunjin’s car smells faintly of sandalwood, heady and earthy.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Hyunjin replies with a smile. He’s wearing his identical red and white national team jersey. It hangs low on his shoulders, revealing the inside curves of his collarbones as they convene below his neck. Something in his expression flickers. “Do you want to skip dinner after the game tonight? We could go hang out or something.”</p>
<p>“You mean, because of Minho.” </p>
<p>Minho, in a show of an almost endearing lack of observational skills, had invited the usual gang - Hyunjin, Seungmin, Jaemin and Felix, as well as Jisung and Changbin - to an after-game dinner at the local bar. It seemed nice in practice, but in reality- Felix, Changbin and Jisung, all in the same room? He’d literally grimaced the moment he got the text.</p>
<p>Hyunjin bites his lip. He doesn’t respond for a few seconds. “I think Minho means well,” he says carefully.</p>
<p>“But tonight’s going to be a trash fire,” Seungmin finishes for him. “Yeah, I know. But…” he stops. Reconfigures. “Felix comes to your practices, right?” </p>
<p>Hyunjin eyes him a little. “Yeah,” he replies, his expression neutral. “Sometimes.” The car shifts as he turns right; Seungmin is pushed against the center console. “He’s friends with Changbin, I think?” Something in his voice is strange.</p>
<p>Seungmin is abruptly reminded of a children’s story he used to like, where the two friends learn a secret at separate times and spend the rest of the book comically avoiding talking about it. He doesn’t want to push Hyunjin, so he doesn’t ask outright. Instead, he says, “I mentioned Jisung said some weird things at the hospital, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Hyunjin flicks on the turn signal, then turns his head behind him as he waits to change lanes. His expression is difficult to read. </p>
<p>“Uh, I know he lies about a lot, but one of the things he said...” Seungmin pauses. He touches the rough leather of the armrest with the pads of his fingers, thinking. “I can’t ask about it. I think it might be easier to just, uh, go and see.” </p>
<p>Hyunjin lets out a breath. “I think I know what you’re talking about. It’s not my secret to tell.”</p>
<p>“I know.” </p>
<p>There’s a long silence. It’s not awkward, exactly- more of a thinking pause than an uncomfortable one. Seungmin listens to the occasional ticking of the turn indicator, the roar of the engine, the soft rush of cars passing by. </p>
<p>“So you’re going to go?” Hyunjin asks finally, meeting Seungmin’s eyes for the briefest of moments.</p>
<p>Seungmin nods. He feels his heart in his ears. “Are you?”</p>
<p>“I don’t trust Jisung to not-” He stops. Full stop, the kind for when you’re about to say too much. “Well, you know,” he says finally, his gaze hesitant. </p>
<p>They reach a stoplight. His heart pounding, Seungmin reaches for Hyunjin’s hand.</p>
<p>Hyunjin smiles. He interlaces their fingers, then just as quickly lets go. The light turns green and the car accelerates. “I guess it could be worse,” he says softly. </p>
<p>Seungmin’s nerves burn where Hyunjin’s touched him. “Yeah.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>	The game against Cambodia starts at 6 o’clock sharp in Seoul’s Olympic Stadium. Seungmin sits off to the side with the less talented half of the team, listening to the roar of twenty thousand or so people as it fills up Olympic Stadium and rumbling over the pitch. Far in front of him, the red-shirted Korean players face off against the blue- and black-jerseyed Cambodian team. Both teams are in their starting positions, poised to start as soon as the ref indicates. Seungmin watches from the bench, his muscles tense. </p>
<p>Without any preamble, the referee blows his whistle. The crowd cheers just as the Cambodian striker kicks the ball to a teammate running parallel to the touchline. Sunwoo races up to him, and he and the striker jointly struggle for control of the ball for a few seconds before Sunwoo emerges victorious. He passes to Renjun, who dribbles it for almost ten yards before getting caught by a Cambodian player. He sends the ball to Donghyuk, who looks about to send it downfield to Hyunjin when an opposing midfielder kicks it out from under him. There’s a brief struggle. It ends up out of bounds. The ref calls the Korean team to kick it in.</p>
<p>The game continues like that almost until half-time, when Hyunjin suddenly breaks through the defensive line. He dribbles deftly around the remaining defenders for ten or fifteen yards until he reaches the goal. He shoots. The goalkeeper jumps, but the ball brushes right past his gloves and into the top left corner of the goal.</p>
<p>“Yes!” Coach Park yells. A couple seats down, one of the new midfielders claps loudly.</p>
<p>The crowd erupts into excited roars. Hyunjin jogs back the center line, smiling broadly. Sweat trickles down his temple and sticks his shirt to his back. His eyes are bright.	</p>
<p>The next goal is scored by Jaemin, fifteen minutes into the second half. Hyunjin scores another only a few minutes later. Head Coach Lim, sure of their victory, subs him out for one of the new guys.</p>
<p>Seungmin watches out of the corner of his eye as Hyunjin all but collapses into the seat abandoned by the subbed-in player, maybe seven or eight feet to his left. He looks exhausted, sweat pouring down his temples and running down his neck, but a slight smile still lingers on his face. He glances at Seungmin, then looks away.</p>
<p>In the last five minutes of the game, Cambodia almost manages a goal, but it’s prevented by an incredible jump by Korea’s new goalie. On the other side of those five minutes, Korea’s U-20 team emerges both victors of the match and one step closer to the World Cup next summer. Most of the benched players rush to meet the rest of the team</p>
<p>Seungmin hesitates. The game is over, and he hasn’t played a single second of it. </p>
<p>The large part of him is glad that they won. But a smaller part of him, the part that’s still captivated by desire to play like Ahn Junghwan, dribbling like magic in front of forty thousand people, wishes he could have been a part of it.</p>
<p>He glances back at the field. To his surprise, Hyunjin stands away from the clash of excited teammates, looking straight at him. He has a knowing look on his face. He gestures quickly, as if to say, <em>are you coming?<em></em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Seungmin feels his chest tighten. He shrugs. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>When Hyunjin keeps looking at him, a complicated look on his face, Seungmin gets up and walks over. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Hyunjin hugs him the way soccer players often do after a win, loose and friendly, but it doesn’t stop all the nerves in his body from feeling like they’ve been set on fire. Hyunjin’s hand brushes the back of his neck. “Next time,” he says under his breath as they separate. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Seungmin can’t speak. He just nods.</em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. back to the hedgerows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Seungmin and Hyunjin go to a bar with their friends, where long-held secrets come to light.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: panic attack</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The low hum of the weekday night crowd washes over Seungmin as he walks down the street, Hyunjin close by his side. They’re en route to Minho’s new favorite place to eat, a cramped cafe and bar with creaky wooden seats and a single unisex bathroom covered in phone numbers. It’s sandwiched between a big, booming karaoke bar and one of the many chain Korean barbecue places across Seoul. Seungmin’s only been there a few times, but the claustrophobic smallness of the space and the lack of overhead lighting always manages to make an impression on him.</p><p>	As they turn the corner to the next street, Hyunjin sends him a quick glance. “I may have to leave early, depending on how much everyone is drinking.”</p><p>	“I can leave with you, if you want?”</p><p>	Hyunjin looks at the ground, as if embarrassed. “Thank you.” </p><p>Seungmin looks down the street. Maybe two hundred feet away is a neon sign announcing the entrance to the bar. It’s one brightly lit beacon amongst the hundreds, if not thousands, in this area of Itaewon. The combined light of all of the neon signs casts a strange orange glow over everything, reflecting back on anything shiny, like jackets or fake leather purses or glasses.</p><p>Even though it’s a weekday night, there’s enough of a crowd that it takes Seungmin a second to find his friends. One of the men loitering close to the bar turns his body, revealing the snarling tiger motif embroidered on the back of his bomber jacket. The profile of his face appears a millisecond later. It’s Minho, caught mid-laugh. </p><p>Once he’s zeroed in on Minho, Seungmin easily finds the rest of them. Felix stands nearby, his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. His mouth is moving, the low murmur of his voice inaudible amongst the crowd. Changbin stands beside him. His normally stony expression breaks into a shocked laugh as he looks at Felix, who must be telling a joke. And then Jisung is in the back, leaning on a pair of metal crutches. His gaze is fixed on Changbin, even though Felix seems to be still talking. His expression is the clearest that Seungmin’s ever seen it.</p><p>Despite their differences, Jisung and Hyunjin do have one thing in common: it’s usually difficult for Seungmin to tell what they’re thinking. But at this moment, Jisung’s expression could not be more obvious to Seungmin. </p><p>He remembers what Jisung told him the night he tore his ACL: <em>He’ll never love you.</em></p><p>Sometimes, Seungmin gets the feeling that when people say things like that to you, they’re really talking to themselves. </p><p> </p><p>Once they’ve all said their hellos, they follow Minho into the bar. The bartender, a college-age boy of about twenty, leans boredly against the counter, staring below the bar top at what must be a phone. A bell tied to the door jingles as they walk in. The bartender shoots Minho a brief smile, pocketing a phone so quickly Seungmin almost doesn’t catch it. “I’ll be right with you,” he calls. </p><p>The only other people in the establishment are a balding man nursing a glass of amber liquid from a stool attached to the bar wall and three or four couples in their early to late twenties, all leaning over plates of tteokbokki, bowls or ramen, and half-empty glasses of beer. The bar hums with the low murmur of conversation.</p><p>Minho leads them to a large, shadowy table near the back. After a moment of awkwardness, Seungmin and Hyunjin sit on one side of the table, Felix and Changbin on the other. Jisung, who they all agree needs extra space for crutches, takes the seat at one head of the table. Minho, as the eldest and the one paying, takes the seat opposite him. </p><p>The bartender comes over to take orders not long after they’ve settled into their seats.  Felix and Minho order beer, Changbin soju.</p><p> Jisung’s gaze flickers to Hyunjin, so quickly Seungmin might have imagined it. “I’ll have soda,” he says casually. “Pepsi.”</p><p>“Same,” Seungmin says. </p><p>“Water for me,” Hyunjin says. </p><p>“I’ll be right back, then,” the bartender says.</p><p> </p><p>Once he leaves, Minho looks at Felix, his eyes narrowed slightly with interest. “So,” he says. “I thought I’d have to be the one to introduce you to Changbin, but clearly that’s not the case. How did you guys meet, exactly?” </p><p>Felix and Changbin exchange a glance. “The movie theater,” Felix says casually, after a noticeable pause. “They were playing the original English dub of an Australian film I like.”</p><p>Hyunjin frowns. “What was Changbin doing <em>there?”</em></p><p>“Actually, you guys don’t know this about me, but I was going to be an English major if soccer didn’t work out,” Changbin says. </p><p>Felix smiles. “Anyway. I went with a friend of mine from Australia. I guess he heard us speaking English, because he came over to say hi. That’s how we met.”</p><p>“Huh,” Minho says, with the tone of someone only mildly interested. “Funny how things work sometimes, I guess.” </p><p>The bartender appears, and there’s a polite pause in conversation as he deposits the drinks on the table. When he leaves, Minho starts to say, “Well, you’ll never believe what happened to me yesterday…”</p><p>Minho keeps talking, but Seungmin’s attention is elsewhere. The idea of socially awkward, silent Changbin going up to a group of people he doesn’t even know and striking up a conversation is almost comically different from the person he is when Seungmin’s around. It’s so striking, in fact, that Seungmin can’t help but wonder if they’ve told a half-truth.</p><p>By the time he tunes back in, the conversation topic has switched entirely.</p><p>	“...your parents come visit when you were in the hospital?” Hyunjin asks, looking at Jisung.</p><p>	Jisung gives him a strange look. “No.”</p><p>	“They should have,” Changbin says quietly. He takes a long drink of soju. </p><p>	“It doesn’t matter.” Jisung plays the wrapper of the disposable chopsticks in front of him, twisting it between his hands unconsciously as he stares back at Changbin.</p><p>	“Did you enjoy it?” Changbin presses. When Jisung sends him a confused expression, he clarifies, “Being in the hospital alone.”</p><p>	Seungmin almost grimaces. <em>Yikes, that’s blunt.</em> </p><p>The moment he makes eye contact with the other boy, Changbin continues, barely giving him time to respond, “If you didn’t enjoy it, then it does matter.”</p><p>	Jisung, to his credit, keeps his tone surprisingly light, perhaps with the awareness of Minho’s presence, even though his words are caustic. “People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, you shithead. Shut up.” </p><p>	Hyunjin lets out a hiss of a breath beside him. He pulls his hands off the top of the table and into his lap, so casually Seungmin almost misses it.</p><p>	“You should probably explain what you mean by that,” Hyunjin asks neutrally.</p><p>Jisung glances at Hyunjin again, so rapid it’s almost imperceptible. He shifts a little in his seat, and his crutches, leaned against the back of his chair, start to slide against the slick hardwood floor. “I meant what it sounds like,” he says. “Thanks for visiting me, Seungmin, by the way. It was nice to see a familiar face while I was there.”</p><p>“Jisung,” Seungmin says quickly, pointing to the crutches. Jisung’s eyes widen, and he turns. He catches them awkwardly right before they hit the floor. </p><p>“Sunwoo visited you,” Changbin says to Jisung’s back as he struggles to lean his crutches back against his chair. They start to slide again, and the shorter boy lets out a brief sound of frustration.</p><p>“Oh, really?” Jisung shoots back, still focused on his crutches. “You call that visiting? It felt more like harassment to me.”</p><p>Seungmin remembers suddenly that when he’d asked if anyone else was going to visit him, Jisung had said only, <em>You just missed him. Funny how bad things come in threes.</em></p><p>“Harassment?” Changbin, normally stony-faced, sounds almost surprised. His eyes flash, and he takes another long gulp of soju.</p><p>Finally, Jisung gets his crutches to balance properly. He turns back to face the group, his eyebrows raised and his eyes wide, as if to say, <em>obviously.</em> “Yeah. Especially the part where he warned me to, I quote, get fucking lost or some shit.” </p><p>Felix, who’d been watching silently up until now, suddenly bursts out, “He did <em>not</em> say that. Don’t be so fucking dramatic.” He taps his fingers on the outside of his glass. </p><p>Jisung scoffs. He reaches out to his crutches with one hand, as if to check that they haven’t fallen again. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were there when it happened. My bad.”</p><p>Felix’s gaze is hard. He’s never liked Jisung, Seungmin remembers. “I didn’t have to be. He told me what he said.”</p><p>“And you trust him?” Jisung asks incredulously. “What are you, five years old?”</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>Jisung rolls his eyes. “It means, contrary to what he may have told you, once upon a time, we were friends.”</p><p>“You’re lying.”</p><p>Jisung frowns comically, as if pretending to think. “Hmm. Oh, wait, you’re right. Friends isn’t the right word. Friends don’t know what other friends taste like.”</p><p>Seungmin registers the horror on Felix’s face right before he feels it for himself. Felix goes silent, clearly unequipped to come up with an appropriate comeback. </p><p>Minho, watching with a frown from the far end of the table, does a double take So intense Seungmin catches it. <em>“What?”</em></p><p>Jisung shrugs. “Take that as you will.” He makes eye contact with Seungmin. His eyes are dark, dark, the weak lighting of the bar sending shadows across his face. Seungmin can’t even begin to imagine what he’s thinking. “So are we ordering food or what?”</p><p>Changbin takes a long gulp of his beer. “You’re such a piece of shit, Jisung.” He sits it down on the table with a thump, the condensation on the edges of the glass trickling down and leaving beads of water on the table. It’s a surprising statement from the boy with the pinned-butterfly stare; Seungmin suspects the alcohol has emboldened him.</p><p>“You’re one to talk.” Jisung reaches up to play with the collar of his shirt, eyes flickering to the table. “Are you gonna pull a bait and switch on him, too?”</p><p>Seungmin barely stops himself from grimacing. What had Jisung said that day in the hospital? That he thought things were changing between them until Changbin met Felix?</p><p>“Stop,” Changbin says, and it almost sounds like a plea. </p><p>Minho, who before was doing an excellent impression of a man cryogenically frozen to his chair, speaks up suddenly. “That’s a great idea, actually,” he says with what Seungmin suspects is a forced smile. “Let’s do that.” </p><p>“Wait.” Felix’s tone is unreadable. He turns his head to look at Changbin, sitting awkwardly next to him. “What does he mean?” </p><p>Something about the tone of Felix’s voice makes Seungmin’s heart crack. He’s not used to seeing his friend seem so vulnerable. For a second, he puts himself in Felix’s shoes: completely unaware of his significant other’s relationship history and finding it out through an enemy, all while surrounded by close friends. There are too many eyes to this. He can’t imagine what that must feel like. </p><p>“Nothing,” Changbin replies, sending Felix a glance that looks a lot like <em>we’ll talk about it later.</em> “He means nothing.”</p><p>Felix’s hand is clenched so tightly around his glass of beer that Seungmin suspects if he’d been given a can instead of glass, it would have crumpled between his fingers. </p><p>Seungmin glances at Hyunjin, still sitting in the chair next to him. His hair is falling into his face as always, a soft, dark waterfall. His shoulders look about half an inch higher than they should be with tension. His gaze is a little unfocused. He’s normally kind of quiet, sure, but not this quiet; it’s not often that Seungmin engages in social situations even more than him. </p><p>Seungmin feels a spark of worry. He doesn’t know what to do.</p><p>“He won’t tell you.” Jisung is playing with his collar again, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly against the white fabric. “Changbin may be many good things, but he has always been a liar.”</p><p>“And you’re not?”</p><p>“Oh, I am,” Jisung acknowledges. “But not about this.”</p><p>“Jisung, don’t,” Hyunjin urges. “Not here.” He sounds almost distressed. Seungmin feels his spark of worry expand more into a fire.</p><p>“Yes, here,” Felix insists, not taking his eyes off of Jisung.  </p><p>“Minho, do you mind taking a bathroom break?” Hyunjin asks quietly. “Just for five minutes or so.”</p><p>Minho blinks. But to his tremendous credit, he doesn’t ask. He just lets out a long breath. “I’ll be back in five,” he promises. He steps out of the booth. The bell on the door jingles a few seconds later; he must have stepped outside to wait.</p><p>“What about the other two?” Changbin prompts, clearly referring to Seungmin and Hyunjin. His eyes seem to pin Seungmin to the cracked leather of the back of the booth. </p><p>“They already know.” It’s Jisung this time. </p><p>“Know what?” Felix’s voice is almost at a whisper. Felix’s gaze flickers to Seungmin, his expression shifting to something not unlike shock. Or shame. Seungmin seems to be seeing a lot of that these days.</p><p>“You know, I’ve never heard you say it,” Jisung says, almost conversationally. He’s staring at Changbin, his eyes glowing a little in the shadows of the booth. </p><p>“I don’t have to love you back,” Changbin says, almost defensively. It’s like they’re having two separate conversations. Seungmin can’t quite follow.</p><p>“No,” Jisung replies, his voice cracking. “But you shouldn’t pretend you do, either.”</p><p>“I didn’t!”</p><p>“Then what was that?” Jisung’s voice is forceful. “That week before the Tigers-Miroh game. Where were you, the night before the game?”</p><p>Changbin pauses.</p><p>“Say it,” Jisung growls. “I’m sick of pretending it didn’t happen.”</p><p>“Changbin,” Felix says softly. “Don’t lie to me.”</p><p>And it must be Felix’s voice that does it, because right after, he ekes out the words: “In bed with him.” </p><p><em>Picture: robot scientist pins a butterfly to the wall.</em> Seungmin can’t decide if he dislikes Changbin’s lack of emotion or is impressed by it.</p><p>“Why were you in bed with him?” Felix whispers. Jisung is staring at him, his expression joyless. Clearly, seeing Felix’s reaction to the long-kept secret isn’t bringing him nearly as much happiness as he perhaps expected.</p><p>“Because he loves me,” Changbin says stiffly. “And it was nice to feel that from someone.”</p><p>“So you lied to him,” Hyunjin says. “You lied to him and pretended you were into him. Why?” His voice sounds strange as he speaks. Like he’s half-paying attention. </p><p>Seungmin’s worry turns to a full-blown alarm. He doesn’t know what to do. Seungmin doesn’t want to touch him without asking, so he doesn’t. Should he suggest they leave? Not now, right? He doesn’t want to assume things and possibly embarrass Hyunjin. But his brain keeps playing Hyunjin’s head in his hands, the sound of sobbing. </p><p>“I just liked the feeling, okay?” Changbin says. “It was nice to know someone liked me that much.”</p><p>Jisung’s eyes are shining. “I would do <em>anything</em> for you, anything! But you left me in the ditch the moment you met someone else.”</p><p>“I left because I <em>like</em> Felix,” Changbin says, his voice breaking, finally betraying some emotion. “Just stop. Please.”</p><p>Jisung scoffs. “What, with the truth?”</p><p>“I-”  He starts. His expression hardens. “Han Jisung,” Changbin says slowly. “Look at me.”</p><p>Jisung meets his eyes. He looks so vulnerable that Seungmin has to look away. He almost feels sick. In that moment, watching Hyunjin’s ex nervously play with his collar and visibly try to control his expression, he feels most of his remaining dislike convert to pity. He stares down at the table, unable to watch. He feels like a voyeur watching a plane crash. He’s frozen in his seat, all he can think about either his worry for Hyunjin or how much he doesn’t want to be there.</p><p>He’s still staring at the table when Changbin continues, “We’ve been friends our whole lives. I know I shouldn’t have slept with you. I may like how the way you look at me makes me feel, but I just don’t like you that way, and I probably never will.” <em>Picture: scientist sticks pin in living butterfly. Pain is a boring side effect.</em></p><p>“Finally,” Jisung growls. “You grow some balls.” He slams his hand against the table, then grabs the edge of the table as he struggles to stand up. He grabs his crutches with a clatter. “Anyway. I’m leaving. Have fun with this absolute fucking mess.” The crutches creak as he leaves.</p><p>Seungmin glances at Hyunjin. He’s staring at the table. </p><p>There’s a long pause.</p><p>“You knew?” Felix asks him. There’s a question in his eyes, too: <em>You knew and you didn’t care I was with a boy?</em> Seungmin knows that look. </p><p>“Jisung told me,” Seungmin says honestly. “I…” He searches for the right words. “I don’t care who you’re with.”</p><p>“Someone should go after him,” Changbin cuts in. He’s staring after Jisung, his expression unfocused. Something in his eyes surprises Seungmin, to that point that he almost asks what’s wrong. But before he can identify the emotion, it’s gone.</p><p>It’s then that Minho appears, his brow creased. “Is Jisung okay?” He looks around the table, and he stops when he gets to Hyunjin. “Oh,” he says quietly. “Go. Before it gets… you know. I’ll go after him.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Hyunjin says, and it sounds more like a prayer. His hand brushes Seungmin’s wrist under the table before he reaches for his phone in his pocket. </p><p>Hyunjin steps out of his seat like a ghost, Seungmin a half-step behind him. </p><p> </p><p>	The moment they get into the car, Hyunjin slams his fists against the steering wheel so hard Seungmin jumps.</p><p> “I hate this,” he growls, his voice trembling. “I hate it, this fucking-” A gasp of a breath. “God,” he says, his voice halfway to a sob. He runs a hand over his face, then both hands. They stay there, protecting his face from view. Seungmin watches as his shoulders begin to shake, and his shoulders slump over. “I hate this,” he says again, but the anger has slipped away already. What’s left is raw and choked, tinged with desperation. He breathes in, and it sounds ragged, like he’s crying. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, his face still buried in his hands. “I just- I fucking- I can’t even just-” He cuts off suddenly, taking a jagged breath. There’s a light thump as he leans forward, letting his arms and his forehead fall against the steering wheel. His hair cascades in front of his eyes. He breathes out, slow and unsteady.</p><p>Seungmin’s throat feels thick. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say it.”</p><p>There’s a long moment as Hyunjin gets his bearings. He hasn’t turned the car engine on, so the only sound is the occasional murmur of passersby in the parking lot as they find their cars.<br/>
Eventually, he lets out a long breath, running a hand over his face again before looking at Seungmin. </p><p>His eyes are red, expression somewhere between lingering anger or frustration and embarrassment. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel once, twice, then pulls them away. </p><p>“I keep thinking it’ll get easier,” he says abruptly. “But it never does.”</p><p>Seungmin doesn’t know what to say, so there’s a little pause as his brain scrambles to find something good. “I’m here if you want to talk about it,” he says hesitantly. </p><p>There’s a beat, like Hyunjin’s processing it. “Thank you,” he says quietly. There’s a beat. Then: “Do you want me to drive you home?”</p><p>He doesn’t look like he’s ready to do anything, much less drive the hour or so zigzag path out west to Seungmin’s apartment, then south to his. But the fact that he offers anyway creates a bright warmth in Seungmin’s chest. He takes Hyunjin in for a second, hands rested lightly on his black jean-clad thighs, graphic tee hung carefully from his shoulders and angling off his collarbones. He has dark circles under his eyes that Seungmin doesn’t remember being there thirty minutes ago. His gaze is appraising, like he’s not sure what Seungmin’s going to say next.</p><p>A thought occurs to him. His heartbeat picks up.</p><p>He’s so used to not taking risks. He spent nineteen years that way,  and that was fine. But staring at the boy in front of him, he can’t help but wonder what might happen if he starts taking them more often.</p><p>“Um…” he starts. “If you don’t think you can make the drive all the way down to your apartment, you could stay at my place?”</p><p>Hyunjin looks at him for a long moment. “You’re okay with that?” </p><p>For a second, he considers being flippant, but he rejects that idea as soon as it comes up. Hyunjin’s expression is serious.</p><p>Seungmin nods. “Yeah.”</p><p>“I’m not going to want to… have sex,” Hyunjin says, almost awkwardly. He looks at Seungmin, then away. “Not after this.”</p><p>Seungmin feels his cheeks turn warm. “Yeah, sure,” he says quickly. “We can just… sleep.”</p><p> Hyunjin smiles. “Cool.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When they get to Seungmin’s apartment, they end up ordering pizza, since neither of them ate at the bar. They sit under the tinny, buzzing light above Seungmin’s dining table, eating and talking intermittently. Sometimes, they go almost five minutes without talking, and Hyunjin in his tiredness seems to feel no need to fill the silence. It could have been awkward, but it’s not. In fact, it’s… really nice. </p><p>Later, with moonbeams shining in from the kitchen window facing the parking lot and the sounds of slamming doors long faded into the small hours of the night, Seungmin shows Hyunjin to his bedroom with as little awkwardness as he can muster. Adrenaline rushes through his body, cold as ice.</p><p>They sprawl out on his bed. At first, Seungmin’s not sure what to do with his body. Limbs poke into stomachs and behind heads and for a while, all he can think is, <em> is this what’s supposed to happen??</em></p><p>After about five minutes, Hyunjin laughs and pulls himself free. “Okay, this sucks.”</p><p>Seungmin feels himself relax with relief. “Kinda, yeah."</p><p>“It’s not supposed to be this weird.” He props himself up on his elbow, staring at Seungmin, as if considering.  The collar of his shirt hangs loose, revealing the lines of his throat, the curve of his shoulder. “Maybe…” He trails off. His expression flickers. “Can I touch you?” </p><p>Seungmin nods. He feels his heart in his throat.</p><p>Hyunjin reaches out, then stops. He hesitates. Seungmin can see it in his eyes.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I don’t want to do anything you’re not ready for,” Hyunjin confesses. Then, so low in his throat Seungmin almost misses it: “I don’t want to mess this up.”</p><p>Seungmin’s heart skips. “I’ll tell you if I’m not ready. I promise. Then we’ll stop.” He pauses. “But… I want you to touch me.” The confession makes his cheeks burn.</p><p>Hyunjin reaches out with his free hand. He brushes Seungmin’s jaw, traces his cheekbone, tucks away a lock of stray hair. Seungmin’s skin sparks where he touches it. “Okay,” he says softly. </p><p>He moves so quickly Seungmin only has a half-second to react, the sheets whispering as he pulls himself above him. And then they’re pressed together, Seungmin hyper-aware of the fact that the only thing keeping their bodies from crashing together is Hyunjin’s left arm propping himself up on one side of Seungmin’s head. His free hand is gentle as it cups Seungmin’s face. And then he kisses him.</p><p>Hyunjin is all hard lines and angles, muscle and bone. This close, Seungmin can smell his cologne like it’s his own, earthy and heady, and his head goes a little fuzzy. Every part of his body where Hyunjin is touching him - his chest, the back of his head, the curve of his hips and the tops of his thighs - feels like it’s been set aflame. Hyunjin’s mouth is hot on his. </p><p>He brushes his fingers along the hem of Hyunjin’s shirt, then briefly opens his eyes to read Hyunjin’s expression. Hyunjin nods, then Seungmin reaches up under the fabric, tracing Hyunjin’s skin, the planes of his back. Hyunjin makes a little sound in his throat, halfway to a groan. </p><p>If he thought his brain was fuzzy before, now it’s nothing but white noise. He kisses Hyunjin’s mouth, then his neck, and Hyunjin makes the sound again. Something burns in his gut. He feels Hyunjin’s fingers dance under his shirt, pulling up the edges of the fabric to his ribcage. The sheets rustle under them as they move. </p><p>Then, suddenly, Hyunjin wrenches himself away. He’s breathing hard, his cheeks flushed. His lips are red, red. He rolls off of Seungmin. </p><p>“Okay,” he says through heavy breaths. “Whoa. Let’s-” He doesn’t finish. He looks at Seungmin. “I think we might have solved our problem.”</p><p>Seungmin swallows. “What do you mean?” He asks, feeling his heart rate begin to slow. </p><p>Hyunjin smirks. “Come here and find out.”</p><p>And he’s right: all of a sudden, it’s not awkward anymore. They tangle their legs together. Hyunjin pulls him close, resting a hand over the curve of his rib. Seungmin links their free hands in the space between them. </p><p>Seungmin can’t help but feel a little disappointed that the moment, the kissing, is already over. But he has too much respect for Hyunjin to linger on the feeling for too long. What ultimately matters isn’t how long they touch or kiss or anything else. It’s this: being comfortable in the same space together, no matter the medium. And they have time, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>They sit in comfortable silence for a long time, Seungmin listening to the sound of Hyunjin’s steady breaths and letting his mind wander. But eventually, Hyunjin says, “I’ll be like this forever, you know.”</p><p>Seungmin blinks. “What do you mean?” </p><p>Hyunjin’s expression hardens a little, but Seungmin knows him well enough by now to know he’s not angry at him. “An alcoholic,” he says, his voice catching.</p><p>He’s never heard Hyunjin say it so plainly. </p><p>“I know,” Seungmin says. Dahyun has told him as much before about her patients at the rehab ward. Some things you have forever.</p><p>Hyunjin’s expression flickers. “I fucking hate it,” he says lowly. </p><p>“I know,” Seungmin says again, this time more gently. There’s a pause. Then, his voice hesitant, he says, “I think we need to have something we can say to each other on days like today. So I can check if you’re okay and like, make up a reason for us to leave, if you want me to.”</p><p>Hyunjin swallows visibly. “That would be good.” </p><p>Seungmin waits, but when he doesn’t suggest anything, he says, “Maybe I can say something like, Don’t pretend? Or don’t play? At least if we’re around our friends.”</p><p>There’s a beat as Hyunjin thinks. </p><p>“I’m okay with that,” Hyunjin replies slowly. “At least for the time being.”</p><p>Seungmin squeezes his hand. Hyunjin shoots him a look that sends sparks down his spine. Then he yawns. </p><p>Seungmin laughs. “You should sleep.”</p><p>Hyunjin’s left hand, still resting on Seungmin’s rib cage, pulls him in a little closer. “You too,” he says softly. </p><p> </p><p>	When Seungmin wakes the next morning, it’s dawn, the blue morning light trickling in through his tiny window and sending weak beams across the floorboards. Hyunjin lays barely four inches away, his face relaxed, mouth slightly ajar, in the throes of sleep. His hair is messy, eyelashes fluttering with REM sleep. He looks strikingly beautiful.</p><p> Seungmin’s heart warms. That morning, he turns on his back and stares up at the ceiling for a long time, listening to the quiet wash of Hyunjin’s breaths and the faint birdsong from the tree outside his window. He’s never felt farther from the person he was eighteen months ago than in that moment. </p><p>It’s not like his dream. It’s not like how he imagined it. But it’s just as good- no, better.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I can't believe there's only one chapter left,,, I've loved writing this fic so much but somehow my plot outline is almost over?? </p><p>Also I changed the my plan for the plot halfway, so if you've been here since the beginning you might notice some small discrepancies with the original part of chapter 1 that takes place in the present. Since chapter 17 is going to take Seungmin back to the present,  I'll probably fix chapter 1 sometime this week. (Not big things, just a part of Seungmin's dialogue that doesn't line up with the plot anymore because I didn't plan right lmao)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. and thus transformed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The U-20 team prepares for the biggest game of the preliminaries.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The following week and a half leads up to the most important preliminary match of the Korean U-20 World Cup season: the match against Japan. It’s one of Korea’s biggest sports rivals, if not the biggest. In the days leading up to the match, Seungmin feels the anxiety of both the players and coaches reach almost tangible form. Practices end fifteen minutes, thirty minutes, sixty minutes later than usual. The coaches are on edge, ending sentences with invisible ultimatums and snapping at anyone who dares speak back. After every practice that week, everyone is sweaty and red and so bone-tired that one night, Jihoon actually falls down four or five stairs on the way down to the locker room in his exhaustion.</p><p>Seungmin spends much of his off-time drinking protein shakes, eating the same three or four rotating meals of chicken and veggies, and wondering if he’ll get even a minute of gameplay. In the time he doesn’t spend consuming calories or sleeping like a log, he drives down to Hyunjin’s apartment only once. They spend the evening watching TV, eating ramen, and kissing. But otherwise, they’re both too tired from practice to drive the thirty or forty minutes between their apartments to see each other. Instead, they text often. Hyunjin dots his messages with TV show references, particularly gifs from dramas like Sky Castle or Hotel del Luna. </p><p>Seungmin isn’t much of a TV watcher. He prefers movies, or maybe Youtube videos if he’s short on time. Hyunjin keeps promising to catch him up. <em>You’re really missing out,</em> he texts once, late at night. When Seungmin asks him why, he texts back: <em>idk, you should watch some with me and find out ;)</em></p><p>Seungmin would be lying if he said it didn’t send a chorus of butterflies through his stomach. And with every passing day, he becomes more and more aware of the fact that this thing between them, the texting and the TV show watching and the ramen eating and the kissing, all of that, is starting to feel more and more like a proper relationship. He starts wondering about how to refer to Hyunjin. The word ‘friend’ doesn’t seem to cut it anymore. Boyfriend, maybe?</p><p>He’s too nervous, too unsure, to say that word out loud to someone else. But he thinks it sometimes in the late of the night, staring at Hyunjin’s occasionally suggestive texts, his chest buzzing with warmth. </p><p> </p><p>The night before the big game, Seungmin lies awake for hours, his stomach churning. His brain plays out a half-dozen potential scenarios for the upcoming match, including both ones where he gets to play, as well as at ones where Korea loses in a bunch of different, but equally humiliating, ways. </p><p>His phone chirps around one or two AM. He groans, then fumbles for his phone. He nearly sweeps it off the side table before pulling it across his bed to comfortable range. </p><p>He blinks. It’s a notification from Instagram.  He has a new DM, from one @hannjisung. The message floats below:<em> Hey. I know I messed up.</em></p><p>Seungmin blinks. He blinks again. Then he drops the phone. It hits his mattress with a thump.</p><p>Once, when he was much younger, six or seven, he was harassed - bullied, really - by a boy in his class. The boy would stick out his foot to trip him, cheat off his tests then pretend it had been the other way around, deface various items of school property and blame it on Seungmin. Eventually, their homeroom teacher caught on and made the boy apologize. When he did, the teacher looked at Seungmin expectantly, and it took him a moment to realize she wanted him to tell the boy - what? Something, clearly. Probably to accept the apology. Maybe even to say it was fine, that it was nothing. So he did, but he left with a strange feeling in his stomach.</p><p>As an adult, Seungmin knows that some pain can’t be solved by just words alone. He thinks of Hyunjin, then of his own hurt, of the horrible things Jisung said to him in the hospital room. He remembers the look on Jisung’s face, then the words, <em>he’ll never love you.</em></p><p>He can’t imagine what prompted the DM. Maybe a concerned therapist, wheedling at Jisung to make amends? One could hope. </p><p>It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. But it was a start.</p><p>Seungmin rubs at his eyes, feeling the adrenaline-worry for the game tomorrow ease slightly with his distraction. He looks at the notification for a long moment, then opens the Instagram app and types back: <em>I appreciate that.</em></p><p>Seungmin isn’t six anymore. He doesn’t need a teacher to prompt him to say words that have now become like a second nature to him, the way culture always does. He wants to write them: <em>It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.</em></p><p>He almost does it. But then he hesitates. Seungmin is a lot of things, but he is not a liar. </p><p>It’s not fine. There are a lot of things that need to happen, starting an actual apology, not just an acknowledgement of fault. </p><p>He exits out of the app, placing his phone back down to his bedside table. Sure, it isn’t enough, but it’s a start. And to be honest, that’s more than he expected. </p><p> </p><p>Unsurprisingly, Seungmin and Felix, who live in the same city, end up on the same bus to the stadium the following evening. Felix lives a little closer to the city center, so when Seungmin steps onto the bus, Felix is already there. The Aussie boy sits near the back, behind an elderly woman reading a book. One of the only open seats left on the entire bus is next to him. </p><p>They make brief, awkward eye contact. Felix’s eyes are dark with lack of sleep. His normally straight black hair is messy today, flopping in front of his forehead and sticking up in a way that reminds Seungmin of an anime. His arms lay across the large black bag in his lap. They haven’t talked since the incident at the bar, mostly because Seungmin can’t figure out what to say.</p><p>As Seungmin slides into the seat beside him, Felix asks softly, “We’re okay, right?”</p><p>Seungmin swallows. “Yeah, of course.” He tries to sound confident, but the truth is that up until now, he wasn’t sure where they stood. </p><p>“Even though Changbin and I…” Felix glances around them, then shrugs, like he can’t make himself say the rest. His cheeks turn a little red. The bus jerks as it starts up again. </p><p>“Yeah.” Seungmin pauses, not sure how to reassure Felix. “He seems nice,” he tries, then grimaces inwardly. </p><p>“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Felix is playing with the zipper of the soccer bag in his lap, his gaze flickering between the seat in front of him and Seungmin’s face.</p><p>“It’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.” </p><p>After a moment of silence, Felix says, “We’re still together, by the way. Me and him.”</p><p>Seungmin tries to conceal his surprise. “Even after Jisung, uh...” he starts. </p><p>“I try not to think about it.” Felix shrugs, staring down at his bag. “I don’t know. I figure, there are more important things to worry about than my boyfriend’s ex...” He falters. “Ex-something.” The metal bag zipper jingles a little as he lets it drop from his fingers. </p><p>Outside the window, the city landscape slows. The bus shudders to a stop. The doors hiss as they open, and a middle-aged woman clambers up the steps. </p><p>“Like the game?” Seungmin volunteers.<br/>
Felix smiles. “Yeah, like the game. Speaking of which, are you ready?”</p><p> </p><p>Seungmin stands in a huddle with the rest of his teammates, leaning against the wall. The concrete of the underground hallway is cool against his back. Head Coach Lim stands in the middle of the twenty-five or so U-20 players, his forehead creased. They’re barely minutes away from walking out onto the field, and the excitement of his teammates is at a fever pitch. </p><p>“...to make up for Jisung, okay?” Coach continues, his stern gaze on the cluster of midfielders off to Seungmin’s left. He has to raise his voice, almost yell, to be heard over the crowd. </p><p>Sunwoo nods. “Yes, sir.” Seungmin barely catches the anxiety-sharp consonants of his reply. </p><p>Coach is only partially audible, and Seungmin misses at least half of his next sentence.“Then let’s get to.. be ready to hustle!” He claps his hands, and the team turns in on itself, facing the end of the concrete hallway as it merges with the vibrant green of the field.</p><p>Seungmin glances down at the floor. He can feel his heart beating in his chest like a quick drum, blood pounding in his ears. His teammates murmur around him, but he feels this rather than hearing it. Outside the locker room, the stadium roars itself alive, the sound of thousands of soccer fans waiting for them to arrive.</p><p>Someone brushes up against him, linking their fingers briefly with his. The hand is sweaty, and Seungmin gets a whiff of sandalwood cologne before the boy pulls away. Something in him calms for the briefest of moments.</p><p>Hyunjin presses his shoulder to Seungmin’s, then catches his hand again and squeezes it. </p><p>Seungmin blinks up at him. He studies Hyunjin’s face: unreadable. His eyes flash, so quick Seungmin almost misses it. But he recognizes that emotion, and it makes his heart skip. He wonders if Hyunjin, too, got a strange text last night from Jisung. </p><p>“Don’t play,” Seungmin murmurs, remembering the code they decided on to check if Hyunjin’s okay.</p><p>“I know,” Hyunjin says under his breath. Enigmatic. He releases Seungmin’s hand, his arm whispering across Seungmin’s back to pull him close. “Good luck today.” And then he disappears, likely off to find the coach and review their plays. </p><p>So Seungmin is left alone, staring at where the concrete of the locker room turns into grass and then that wide-open field, surrounded by tens of thousands of people. </p><p>“Let’s go, boys!” Coach yells then, his voice hoarse from screaming last night. They jog forward, past that thin line between concrete and grass. The moment they cross the threshold, the crowd erupts. </p><p>The field spreads out wide in front of them, the sun shining bright as a coin in the sky. Seungmin can feel the soft heat on his face, his neck. He tilts his head back a little, to look at the crowd. It goes on for ages, out both sides of his vision, surreal in its size.</p><p>He can feel eyes on his back, the heat of someone’s gaze, but he doesn’t turn around. </p><p>He breathes out. </p><p>Eighteen months ago - hell, even six months ago - he would have told himself not to get distracted. Because instead of thinking only of the coming game, of this beautiful, awful sport that he loves so much, his thoughts have been partially derailed. His hand is still tingling where Hyunjin touched him.</p><p>Part of him wishes he could go back in time. If he could, he’d tell eighteen, seventeen, even thirteen-year-old Seungmin that he didn’t have to be so afraid. That when Hyunjin told him he sounded like Jisung, <em>“convinced no one would ever love him,”</em> he had read Seungmin perfectly, perhaps better than Seungmin was willing to read himself.</p><p>Done right, relationships were not a distraction. And by telling himself that they were distractions, he had been only trying to protect himself from the truth: he was too afraid he would fail to even try them at all. He hid his fear from himself by claiming it was better that way. That he, that his career, was better off alone.</p><p>But here’s the truth: Being with Hyunjin doesn’t make him a worse soccer player. Being friends with his teammates <em>definitely</em> doesn’t make him a worse soccer player. But even if they did, it wouldn’t matter. </p><p>Seungmin was whole before he met them- he knows that. But he can’t deny the fact that something in his heart feels different with them. Warmer. Fuller in a way that even soccer couldn’t do for him.</p><p>He can still sense Hyunjin’s gaze on his neck. He glances back to find Hyunjin staring at him.</p><p>Seungmin smiles. And after a moment, Hyunjin returns it.</p><p> </p><p>The game is every bit as stressful as Seungmin expected. Hyunjin is starting, flanked by the other U-20 forward and Jisung’s replacement, a newbie attacking midfielder. The nervous tension of his teammates is visible even from the sidelines. As the starter, Hyunjin must be especially nervous, but he doesn’t show it. His expression is carefully neutral. </p><p>Then the ref blows his whistle, and the ball is in play. The crowd erupts with excitement. Seungmin feels the noise rattling in his bones, it’s so loud. </p><p>The red-shirted Korean team passes the ball amongst themselves for almost a minute before it’s stolen by a Japanese midfielder in a dark blue jersey. Donghyuk makes a dash for the ball, but is bumped out of the way by an opposing player. The midfielder makes it all the way to the Korean defensive line. Seungmin’s heart pounds. </p><p>Right before he breaks through the defensive line, Jaemin gains control of the ball. He races down the sideline. He passes to Renjun, who makes it all the way past the center line before he’s cornered by too many navy-shirted players for him to handle. He makes a desperate long pass to Sunwoo, who almost fumbles it. An opposing midfielder takes advantage of the slip and recaptures the ball.</p><p>The game continues like that until the end of the first half, neither team making much headway. Occasionally, the ball will go out of bounds or someone will commit a foul, necessitating free kicks and throw-ins. But other than that, it’s a relentless back and forth, with no respite. What the Japanese team has over them in team synchrony, the Korean team makes up for with sheer will. </p><p>It’s a dirty game, too. When one of the many fouls is called, a Japanese player angrily tries to contest it and is immediately given a red card, a one-way ticket off the field for the rest of the game. About fifteen minutes later, one of the Korean players, a defender named Jihoon, aims a particularly hard elbow at someone’s gut. The ref gives him a yellow card, the equivalent of a warning.</p><p>They’re barely thirty seconds from half-time when a Japanese player breaks away from the pack. Jaemin runs after him, but can’t seem to catch up. One of the newbies tries to get the ball away from him, but fails. The only person left between him and the goalkeeper is Jihoon. </p><p>Seungmin sees it in his eyes before it happens. </p><p>Jihoon’s expression is nothing other than desperate. He slides on the grass, taking the player’s feet out from under him. The ball skids away in the wrong direction, and the man hits the ground hard. It’s the kind of fall that you feel secondhand, the kind that takes the wind out of your lungs.</p><p>Several referees start blowing their whistles angrily. Play stops. One runs onto the field, flashing a colored card in his hand. It’s a yellow card, his second of the game. And in soccer, two yellow cards equals a red. </p><p>Coach Park swears. Japan is awarded an indirect free kick, which they fortunately fumble. It’s then that the ref blows his whistle for half-time, and the eleven Korean players jog over to the sidelines, covered in sweat and dirt. </p><p>Jihoon is the last to walk over. He’s frowning. Coach Park immediately pulls him aside; Seungmin barely catches the tail end of “What the fuck were you thinking…” before they walk too far away to hear.</p><p>The ten remaining players from the first half meander over to the water station. Seungmin glances over. Hyunjin stands in the middle of the huddle of sweaty teammates, his chest rising and falling quickly. He pushes back his hair, his gaze slightly unfocused. Felix stands nearby, talking to one of the other defenders in between sips of water and heavy breaths.</p><p>Seungmin looks back at Head Coach Lim. He towers over the benched players, his hands on his hips. With Jihoon out, they’ll need a replacement, he knows. The coach surveys the four benched defenders, frowning with what looks to be a combination of both residual anger and concentration. </p><p>“Seungmin,” he says finally.</p><p>Seungmin blinks. “What?” He says faintly. He must have heard him wrong.</p><p>“You’re going in for Jihoon,” Coach Lim confirms. “Get warmed up.”</p><p>He hasn’t played in an official U-20 game since last July. It’s May now. Adrenaline sweeps through his veins, cold as ice. <em>Okay.</em> </p><p>
  <em>I can do this.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>This time, the Japanese team is starting. The Korean team hangs back a little, each line staggered so that the offensive line is about five feet behind the centerline, midfielders scattered in the middle, and defenders just in front of the goal box. Seungmin can hear his heart pounding in his ears. He’s the leftmost defender, so he has to glance right to see Jaemin and Felix. </p><p>The ref blows his whistle. The starter passes the ball to the right forward, who takes off running. The Korean team, Seungmin included, immediately run forward. The ball passes to another Japanese teammate, who takes it for another ten or so feet before it’s intercepted by Sunwoo. This goes on for a while; maybe six or seven minutes at least. But eventually, the ball goes out of bounds just past the centerline on the Japanese side of the field. </p><p>Renjun goes to kick it in. Seungmin and the rest of his team race downfield. Renjun kicks it in; Donghyuk immediately gains control of the ball. He sends a long pass to Jaemin, who easily captures it and just as quickly sends it to Seungmin. </p><p>The world goes quiet, the way it always does. Seungmin dribbles it for a bit, crossing the last bit of field between him and the penalty box. His blood pounds through his veins, loud as a drum. His opponents seem to converge on him in slow motion. His mind goes blank. It’s just him and the ball. </p><p>He can tell he won’t last much longer. All of a sudden, there’s an opening. He passes it diagonally to Hyunjin - bright-eyed, sweaty Hyunjin - who aims for the goal. The ball whirls through the air, then swishes in the back of the net. </p><p>The crowd roars right as the Japanese goalkeeper hits the ground. Seungmin races over to Hyunjin, smiling so widely it almost hurts. He pulls him into a hug. Hyunjin’s eyes are bright, bright, with an emotion Seungmin will only later recognize as pride. </p><p>Barely a second later, the rest of the Korean team that’s currently playing joins them in a large, sweaty celebratory mass. As the rest of the team exchanges bro hugs, Jaemin claps Seungmin on the back. </p><p>“Nice job,” he says, grinning.</p><p>“Thanks,” Seungmin replies. He can’t help but mirror Jaemin’s expression. </p><p>The world stretches wide in front of him. He feels it in his heart, pounding, pounding, a bright cousin to adrenaline. Joy, maybe? He’s not sure. But does it matter? </p><p> </p><p>In the end, they win 1 to 0. It’s not much to brag about, but a victory nonetheless. Korea moves on in the prelims, Hyunjin tacks another goal onto his already impressive stats, and Seungmin gets his first assist ever as a professional player.</p><p> </p><p>Later that night, Seungmin and Hyunjin return from the team’s celebratory dinner, the stars scattered across the sky. Hyunjin drives them back to his apartment. They chat a little in the car, but in the stretches of silence, Seungmin replays the goal in his head without meaning to, the neon lights of the highway flickering across his vision. </p><p>“We should watch a drama tonight,” Hyunjin says absentmindedly. The ticking of the turn signal turns on, then off, the metal rings on his fingers clinking dully as they hit the indicator. The car slides into the adjacent lane.</p><p>“Yeah, definitely,” Seungmin agrees. “Which one do you wanna watch?”</p><p>“Whichever.” Hyunjin’s tone is without rancor.</p><p>Seungmin glances at him. Hyunjin’s dark gaze is focused on the road. Somehow, his hair is still damp from his shower after the game, a few locks thin and spiky with water. The corner of his mouth turns up, as if noticing Seungmin’s gaze, but he doesn’t say anything.</p><p>Just then, Seungmin’s phone chirps. He looks down.</p><p>
  <em>Dahyun: So are we still meeting tomorrow?</em>
</p><p>“What is it?” Hyunjin’s voice is curious.</p><p>“It’s my sister,” Seungmin replies. “She wants to meet for lunch tomorrow.”</p><p>“She’s a rehab nurse, right?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Seungmin sends a quick text back - <em>Tell me what time you’re available again</em> - then looks back up at the road. He stares down at his phone, where Dahyun’s sent him a few times. Another text pops up moments later: You should bring your boy </p><p>Seungmin feels himself blush. “Uh, do you want to come with?”</p><p>Hyunjin visibly hesitates. Seungmin realizes too late that the idea of meeting a rehab nurse might be less than appealing to him, even if it is Seungmin's sister.</p><p> Then he smiles, almost self-consciously. “Sure.” He turns again, and the car slows to a stop. Outside the windshield, Hyunjin’s apartment complex lies before them, the full moon just peeking out from behind the shingled roof. </p><p>Seungmin smiles back. “Cool.” Then, “Can we get takeout tonight? I can pay.”</p><p>“Let’s split,” Hyunjin counters. “I know a really good Chinese place about a block from here. We can even walk.”</p><p>“It’s a date,” Seungmin says, half-jokingly.</p><p>To his surprise, though, Hyunjin smiles softly. “Yeah. It’s a date.” He reaches out and squeezes Seungmin’s hand. </p><p>“I really want to kiss you,” Seungmin murmurs before he can stop himself. </p><p>Hyunjin smirks.</p><p> </p><p>When Seungmin was three years old, he fell in love with soccer.</p><p>It was by chance, really. His dad was trying to watch a rerun of the 2002 World Cup. It was Korea vs Germany, the semifinals, a hot summer day with the sun blazing in the background. He was being fussy. His parents tiredly sat him in front of the TV. </p><p>The Korean team poured their lifeblood into the game, but Germany was better. Of course, that didn’t matter all that much to toddler Seungmin. What mattered was how different this soccer was from the one he angrily resisted playing on Saturday mornings. Half the kids went off and did their own thing, like inspecting the grass for bugs or having temper tantrums when they couldn’t get the ball. But on screen, Koreans like him moved like aggressive dance partners, weaving and twisting and sprinting at speeds that seemed impossible. It was like magic. </p><p>He was so, so enamored by it. He wanted to feel that, too: the blood-pumping joy clear on the players’ faces, not in the least on the face of Ahn Junghwan, who stole the show. </p><p>Seungmin would spend the next fifteen years of his life chasing that dream. </p><p>He’s spent so much of his life chasing after his dreams. Soccer has been and always will be the first dream of his heart. He’s thrown nineteen years into it, into chasing that magic that still sparks in his heart every time he dribbles a ball down Miroh’s bright green pitch. But there’s been another dream, one that’s followed him for a long time. Longer than he’s known Hyunjin. </p><p>So much of loneliness can be traced back to the erroneous belief that we are not enough. </p><p>This year, this year, things have been different. And they’re going to continue to be different; Seungmin can feel it in his heart. </p><p>He and Hyunjin still have a lot to figure out. He has a whole FIFA tournament ahead of him, too, not to mention the many Miroh games scheduled over the next five or so months. </p><p>But it’s alright. There’s no rush. They’ve got all the time in the world.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It took me way longer than I meant to to write this chapter, things kept popping up and now here we are, two weeks later... I'm sorry about that!</p><p>Anyway, I just wanted to thank everyone for reading this fic!! I hope you liked it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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